Ill 


Supplied  by 

W.  F.  PURNELI. 


. 

4-    , 


THE  REDEMPTION 
OF  DAVID  CORSON 


SPECIAL  LIMITED  EDITION 

THE   REDEMPTION 
OF  DAVID  CORSON 


By 

Charles  Frederic   Goss 


NEW   YORK 
B.  W.   DODGE    &    COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1900 

By 

The  Bowen-Merrill  Company 
All  Rights  Reserved. 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  oc  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


r 


To  my  friend 
William  Harvey  Anderson 


Contents 


This  Other  Eden  I 

II. 

And  Satan  Came  Also  17 

III. 

The  Egyptians  24 

IV. 

The  Woman  41 

V. 

The  Light  That  Lies  52 

VI. 

The  Trail  of  the  Serpent  6a 

VII. 

The  Chance  Word  74 

VIII. 

A  Broken  Reed  81 

IX. 

Where  Paths  Converge  93 

X. 

A  Poisoned  Spring  101 

XI. 

The  Flesh  and  the  Devil  119 


XII. 

The  Moth  and  the  Flame  130 

XIII. 

Found  Wanting  148 

XIV. 

Turned  Tempter  167 

XV. 

The  Snare  of  the  Fowler  176 

XVI. 

The  Derelicts  1 88 

XVII. 

The  Shadow  of  Death  2O4 

XVIII. 

A  Fugitive  and  a  Vagabond  ai8 

XIX. 

Alienation  ^^^ 

XX. 

The  Inevitable  Hour  231 

XXI. 

A  Signal  in  the  Night  246 

XXII. 
Heart  Hunger  254 

XXIII. 
Where  I  Might  Find  Him  259 

XXIV. 
Safe  Haven  264 


XXV. 

The  Little  Lad  271 

XXVI. 

Out  of  the  Shadow  288 

XXVII. 

If  Thine  Enemy  Hunger  304 

XXVIII. 

A  Man  Crossed  With  Adversity  307 

XXIX. 

As  a  Tale  That  is  Told  315 

XXX. 

Out  of  the  Jaws  of  Death  329 

XXXI. 

The  Great  Refusal  345 

XXXII. 
The  End  of  Exile  353 

XXXIII. 

A  Self-imposed  Expiation  372 

XXXIV. 

Fasting  in  the  Wilderness  387 

XXXV. 

A  Forest  Idyl  395 

XXXVI. 

The  Supreme  Test  404 

XXXVII. 

Paradise  Regained  4x0 


THE  REDEMPTION  OF 
DAVID  CORSON 


CHAPTER  I. 
THIS  OTHER  EDEN 

"This  other  Eden,  demi-paradise,  this  fortress  built  by  na 
ture."  —Richard  II. 

Hidden  away  in  this  worn  and  care-encumbered 
world,  scarred  with  its  frequent  traces  of  a  primeval 
curse,  are  spots  so  quiet  and  beautiful  as  to  make 
the  fall  of  man  seem  incredible,  and  awaken  in  the 
breast  of  the  weary  traveler  who  comes  suddenly 
upon  them,  a  vague  and  dear  delusion  that  he  has 
stumbled  into  Paradise. 

Such  an  Eden  existed  in  the  extreme  western 
part  of  Ohio  in  the  spring  of  eighteen  hundred 
and  forty-nine.  It  was  a  valley  surrounded  by 
wooded  hills  and  threaded  by  a  noisy  brook  which 
hastily  made  its  way,  as  if  upon  some  errand  of 
immense  importance,  down  to  the  big  Miami  not 
many  miles  distant.  A  road  cut  through  a  vast 
and  solemn  forest  led  into  the  valley,  and  entering 
as  if  by  a  corridor  and  through  the  open  portal  of 
a  temple,  the'  traveler  saw  a  white  farm-house 
nestling  beneath  a  mighty  hackberry  tree  whose 


2       THE  REDEMPTION   OF   DAVID   CORSON 

wide-reaching  arms  sheltered  it  from  summer  sun 
and  winter  wind.  A  deep,  wide  lawn  of  bluegrass 
lay  in  front,  and  a  garden  of  flowers,  fragrant  and 
brilliant,  on  its  southern  side.  Stretching  away 
into  the  background  was  the  farm  newly  carved 
out  of  the  wilderness,  but  already  in  a  high  state 
of  cultivation.  All  those  influences  which  stir  the 
deepest  emotion  of  the  heart  were  silently  operating 
here — quiet,  order,  beauty,  power,  life.  It  affected 
one  to  enter  it  unprepared  in  much  the  same  way, 
only  with  a  greater  variety  and  richness  of  emo 
tion,  as  to  push  through  dense  brush  and  suddenly 
behold  a  mountain  lake  upon  whose  bosom  there  is 
not  so  much  as  a  ripple,  and  in  whose  silver  mirror 
surrounding  forests,  flying  water-fowl  and  the 
bright  disk  of  the  sun  are  perfectly  reflected. 

In  this  lovely  valley,  at  the  close  of  a  long, 
odorous,  sun-drenched  day  in  early  May,  the  sacred 
silence  was  broken  by  a  raucous  blast  from  that 
most  unmusical  of  instruments,  a  tin  dinner  horn. 
It  was  blown  by  a  bare-legged  country  boy  who 
seemed  to  take  delight  in  this  profanation.  By 
his  side,  in  the  vine-clad  porch  of  the  white  farm 
house  stood  a  woman  who  shaded  her  eyes  with 
her  hand  as  she  looked  toward  a  vague  object  in  a 
distant  meadow.  She  was  no  longer  young,  but 
had  exchanged  the  exquisite  beauty  of  youth  for 
the  finer  and  more  impressive  beauty  of  maturity. 
As  the  light  of  the  setting  sun  fell  full  upon  her  face 
it  seemed  almost  transparent,  and  even  the  unob- 
serving  must  have  perceived  that  some  deep  experi- 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  3 

ence  of  the  sadness  of  life  had  added  to  her  char 
acter  an  indescribable  charm. 

"Thee  will  have  to  go  and  call  him,  Stephen,  for 
I  think  he  has  fallen  into  another  trance,"  the 
woman  said,  in  a  low  voice  in  which  there  was  not 
a  trace  of  impatience,  although  the  evening  meal 
was  waiting  and  the  pressing  work  of  the  house 
hold  had  been  long  delayed. 

The  child  threw  down  his  dinner  horn,  whistled 
to  his  dog  and  started.  Springing  up  from  where 
he  had  been  watching  every  expression  of  his  mas 
ter's  face,  the  shaggy  collie  bounded  around  him 
as  he  moved  across  the  lawn,  while  the  woman 
watched  them  with  a  proud  and  happy  smile.  They 
had  scarcely  entered  the  long  lane  leading  to  the 
pasture,  when  a  woodchuck  shambled  out  of  the 
corner  of  the  fence  and  ran  lumbering  into  his 
burrow.  Rushing  excitedly  after  him  the  child 
clapped  his  hands  and  shouted:  "Dig  him  out! 
Dig  him  out,  Shep !"  Tearing  up  the  ground  with 
his  paws  and  thrusting  his  head  down  into  the 
subterranean  chamber,  the  obedient  collie  yelped 
and  whined.  Then  backing  out  and  plunging  in 
once  more,  he  yelped  and  whined  again.  The  hole 
was  too  deep  or  the  time  too  short  and  the  boy 
became  discouraged.  Moving  reluctantly  away  he 
chidingly  summoned  his  companion  to  follow  him. 
The  dog,  humiliated  by  his  failure,  obeyed,  and 
sheepishly  licked  his  mouth  with  his  long,  red 
tongue. 

By  this   time  the  sun's   disk  had  sunk  behind 


4       THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

the  hills,  its  trailing  glory  lingering  above  their 
summits  while  slowly  in  the  sky  faded  continents, 
mountains  and  spires.  The  day  had  died  regret 
fully  upon  a  couch  o'erhung  with  gorgeous  cano 
pies,  and  the  ensanguined  bier  still  seemed  to 
tremble  with  his  last  sigh.  Birds  in  the  tops  of  trees 
and  crickets  beneath  the  sod  were  giving  expression 
to  the  emotions  of  the  sad  heart  of  the  great  earth 
in  melancholy  evening  songs.  The  odors  of  peach 
and  apple  blossoms,  wafted  by  gentle  breezes  from 
distant  orchards,  made  the  valley  fragrant  as  an 
oriental  garden.  The  soothing  influence  of  the 
approaching  night  subdued  the  effervescent  spirits 
of  the  lad,  and  he  began  to  walk  softly,  as  do  nuns 
in  the  aisles  of  dim  cathedrals  or  deer  in  the  path 
ways  of  the  moonlit  forest.  These  few  moments 
between  twilight  and  dark  are  pregnant  with  a 
mysterious  holiness  and  it  is  doubtful  if  the  worst 
of  men  could  find  the  courage  to  commit  a  crime 
while  they  endure. 

Unutterable  and  incomprehensible  emotions  were 
awakened  in  the  soul  of  the  boy  by  the  stillness 
and  beauty  of  the  evening  world.  His  senses  were 
not  yet  dulled  nor  his  feelings  jaded.  Through 
every  avenue  of  his  intelligence  the  mystery  of  the 
universe  stole  into  his  sensitive  spirit.  If  a  breeze 
blew  across  the  meadow  he  turned  his  cheek  to 
its  kiss;  if  the  odor  of  spearmint  from  the  brook- 
side  was  wafted  around  him  he  breathed  it  into 
his  nostrils  with  delight.  He  saw  the  shadow  of  a 
crow  flying  across  the  field  and  stopped  to  look  up 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  5 

and  listen  for  the  swish  of  her  wings  and  her 
loud,  hoarse  caw  as  she  made  her  way  to  the  nest 
ing  grounds;  then  he  gazed  beyond  her,  into 
the  fathomless  depths  of  the  blue  sky,  and  his  soul 
was  stirred  with  an  indescribable  awe.  Everything 
filled  him  with  surprise,  with  wonder  and  with 
ecstasy, — the  glowing  sky  above  the  western  hills, 
the  new  pale  crescent  of  the  silver  moon,  the  heavy- 
laden  honey  bees  eagerly  hastening  home,  the  long 
shadows  lying  across  his  path,  the  trees  with 
branches  swaying  in  the  evening  breeze,  the  cows 
with  bursting  udders  lowing  at  the  bars. 

But  it  was  not  so  much  the  objects  themselves 
as  the  spirit  pervading  them,  which  stirred  the 
depths  of  the  child's  mind.  The  little  pantheist  saw 
God  everywhere.  We  bestow  the  gift  of  language 
upon  a  child,  but  the  feelings  which  that  language 
serves  only  to  interpret  and  express  exist  and  glow 
within  him  even  if  he  be  dumb.  And  this  gift  of 
language  is  often  of  questionable  value,  and  had 
been  so  with  him.  Things  he  had  heard  said  about 
God  often  made  the  boy  hate  Him.  All  that  he 
felt,  filled  him  with  love.  To  him  the  valley  was 
heaven,  and  through  it  invisibly  but  unmistakably 
God  walked,  morning,  noon  and  evening. 

To  the  child  sauntering  dreamily  and  wistfully 
along,  the  object  dimly  seen  from  the  farm-house 
door  began  gradually  to  dissolve  itself  into  a  group 
of  living  beings.  Two  horses  were  attached  to  a 
plow;  one  standing  in  the  lush  grass  of  the 
meadow,  and  the  other  in  a  deep  furrow  traced 


6       THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

across  its  surface.  The  first,  an  old  gray  mare, 
was  breathing  heavily,  her  sides  expanding  and 
contracting  like  a  bellows.  Her  wide  nostrils 
opened  and  closed  with  spasmodic  motions.  Her 
eyes  were  shut  and  she  seemed  to  be  asleep.  The 
other,  a  young  and  slender  filly  doing  this  season 
the  first  real  service  of  her  life,  pawed  the  ground 
restlessly,  snorted,  shook  her  mane,  rattled  the  har 
ness  chains  and  looked  angrily  over  her  shoulder 
at  the  driver.  The  plowshare  was  buried  deep  in 
the  rich,  alluvial  soil,  and  a  ribbon  of  earth  rolled 
from  its  blade  like  a  petrified  sea  billow,  crested 
with  a  cluster  of  daisies  white  as  the  foam  of  a 
wave. 

Between  the  handles  of  the  plow  and  lean 
ing  on  the  crossbar,  his  back  to  the  horses,  stood 
a  young  Quaker.  His  broad-brimmed  hat,  set  care 
lessly  on  the  back  of  his  head,  disclosed  a  wide, 
high  forehead ;  his  flannel  shirt,  open  at  the  throat, 
exposed  a  strong,  columnar  neck,  and  a  deep,  broad 
chest;  his  sunburned  and  muscular  arms  were 
folded  across  his  breast ;  figure  and  posture  revealed 
the  perfect  concord  of  body  and  soul  with  the 
beauty  of  the  world ;  his  great  blue  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  notch  in  the  hills  where  the  sun  had  just 
disappeared ;  he  gazed  without  seeing  and  felt  with 
out  thinking. 

The  boy  approached  this  statuesque  figure  with 
a  stealthy  tread,  and  plucking  a  long  spear  of  grass 
tickled  the  bronzed  neck.  The  hand  of  the  plow 
man  moved  automatically  upward  as  if  to  brush 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  7 

away  a  fly,  and  at  this  unconscious  action  the  child, 
seized  by  a  convulsion  of  laughter  and  fearing  lest 
it  explode,  stuffed  his  fists  into  his  mouth.  In  the 
opinion  of  this  irreverent  young  skeptic  his  Uncle 
Dave  was  in  a  "tantrum"  instead  of  a  "trance," 
and  he  thought  such  a  disease  demanded  heroic 
treatment. 

For  several  years  this  Quaker  youth  had  been 
the  subject  of  remarkable  emotional  experiences, 
in  explanation  of  which  the  rude  wits  of  the  vil 
lage  declared  that  he  had  been  moon-struck;  the 
young  girls  who  adored  his  beauty  thought  Ije 
was  in  love,  and  the  venerable  fathers  and  moth 
ers  of  this  religious  community  believed  that  in  him 
the  scriptural  prophecy,  "Your  young  men  shall 
see  visions,"  had  been  literally  fulfilled.  David 
Corson  himself  accepted  the  last  explanation  with 
unquestioning  faith.  He  no  more  doubted  the 
existence  of  a  spiritual  than  of  a  material  universe. 
He  did  not  even  conceive  of  their  having  well- 
defined  boundaries,  but  seemed  to  himself  to  pass 
from  one  to  the  other  as  easily  as  across  the  lines 
'of  adjoining  farms.  In  this  respect  he  resembled 
many  a  normal  youth,  except  that  this  impression 
had  lingered  with  him  a  little  longer  than  was 


/usual;  for  faith  is  always  instinctive,  while  skep^1*1^ 
i    ticism   is  the  result  of  experience  and  reflection.  J 
Having  as  yet  only  wandered  around  the  edges 
of  the  sacred  groves  of  wisdom  where  these  piti 
less  teachers  break  the  sweet    shackles    of    their 
pupils,  he  still  thought  the  thoughts  of  childhood 


8       THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  instinctively  obeyed  the  injunction  of 
Emerson,  to  "reverence  the  dreams  of  our  youth," 
and  the  admonition  of  Richter,  that  "when  we 
cease  to  do  so,  then  dies  the  man  in  us."  What 
ever  might  have  been  the  real  nature  of  these 
emotional  experiences,  no  one  doubted  that  they 
possessed  a  genuine  reality  of  some  kind  or  other, 
for  it  was  a  matter  of  history  in  this  little  com 
munity  that  David  Corson  had  often  exercised  pro 
phetic,  mesmeric  and  therapeutic  powers. 

The  life  of  this  young  man  had  been  pure  and 
uneventful.  Existence  in  this  frontier  region,  once 
full  of  the  tragedy  of  Indian  warfare,  had  been 
gradually  softened  by  peace  and  religion.  The 
passions  slowly  kindling  in  the  struggle  over  slav 
ery  had  not  yet  burst  into  flame,  and  this  particular 
valley  was  even  more  quiet  than  others  be 
cause  it  had  been  settled  by  a  colony  of  Quakers. 
Into  it  the  rude  noises  of  the  great  outside  world 
floated  only  in  softened  echoes,  and  what  knowl 
edge  young  Corson  had  acquired  of  that  vague 
and  shadowy  realm  had  come  mainly  through  trav 
eling  preachers,  and  this,  because  of  their  sim 
plicity  and  unworldliness,  was  not  unlike  hearing 
the  crash  of  arms  through  silken  portieres  or  see 
ing  the  flash  of  lightning  through  the  stained-glass 
windows  of  a  cathedral.  In  such  a  sequestered 
region  books  and  papers  were  scarce,  and  he  had 
access  only  to  a  few  volumes  written  by  quietists 
and  mystics,  and  to  that  great  mine  of  sacred  litera 
ture,  the  Holy  Bible.  The  seeds  of  knowledge 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  y 

sown  by  these  books  in  the  rich  soil  of  this  young 
heart  were  fertilized  by  the  society  of  noble  men, 
virtuous  women,  and  natural  surroundings  of 
exquisite  beauty. 

But  however  limited  his  knowledge  of  men  and 
affairs,  the  young  mystic  had  acquired  an  extraor 
dinary  familiarity  with  the  operations  of  the  divine 
life  which  animates  the  universe.  He  seemed  to 
have  found  the  pass-key  to  nature's  mysteries,  and 
to  have  acquired  a  language  by  which  he  could 
communicate  with  all  her  creatures.  He  knew 
where  the  rabbits  burrowed,  where  the  partridges 
nested,  and  where  the  wild  bees  stored  their  honey. 
He  could  foretell  storms  by  a  thousand  signs,  pos 
sessed  the  homing  instinct  of  the  pigeons,  knew 
where  the  first  violets  were  to  be  found,  and  where 
the  last  golden-rod  would  bloom.  The  squirrels 
crept  down  the  trunks  of  trees  to  nibble  the  crumbs 
which  he  scattered  for  them.  He  could  fokl  up 
his  hands  like  a  cup  and  at  his  whistle  birds  would 

p    into    them    as    into    a    nest.     His    was    a~*\ 
f     beautiful  soul,  and  what  Novalis  said  of    Spinoza      J 
might  have  been  said  of  him,  "he  was  a  God-intoxi-  J 
cated  man."    He  was  in  that  blissful  period  of 
existence  when  the  interpretations  of  life  imparted 
to  him  by  his  elders  solved  the  few  simple  problems 
of  thought  and  action  pressed  upon  him  by  his  en 
vironment.       He   had  never  seriously  questioned 
any  of  the  ideas  received  from  his  instructors.    He 
was  often  conscious  oi  the  infinite  mystery  lying 
beyond  his  ken,  but  never  of  those  frightful  in- 


10     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

consistencies  and  contradictions  in  nature  and  life 
by  which  the  soul  is  sooner  or  later  paralyzed  or 
at  least  bewildered. 

And  so  his  outlook  upon  the  universe  was 
serene  and  untroubled.  As  he  stood  there  in  the 
deepening  twilight  he  differed  from  the  child 
who  had  approached  him  in  this,  that  while  the 
boy  reveled  in  the  beauty  around  him  because  he 
did  not  try  to  comprehend  it,  the  youth  was  in 
toxicated  by  the  belief  that  he  possessed  the  clue 
to  all  these  mysteries,  and  had  a  working  theory 
of  all  the  phenomena  in  the  natural  and  spiritual 
world  in  which  he  moved.  To  such  mystical 
natures  this  confidence  is  unavoidable  anywhere 
through  the  period  of  the  pride  of  adolescence;  but 
it  was  heightened  in  this  case  by  the  simplicity  of 
life's  problems  in  this  narrow  valley,  and  in  the  pro 
vincial  little  village  which  was  the  metropolis  of 
this  sparsely  settled  region.  To  him  "the  cackle  of 
that  bourg  was  the  murmur  of  the  world,"  and  his 
theories  of  a  life  lacking  the  complexities  of  larger 
aggregations  of  men  seemed  adequate,  because 
he  had  never  seen  them  thoroughly  tested,  to  meet 
every  emergency  arising  for  reflection  or  endeavor. 
"In  this  mental  attitude  of  serene  and  undisturbed 
confidence  that  he  knew  the  real  meaning  of  exist 
ence,  and  was  in  constant  contact  with  the  divine 
mind  through  knowledge  or  through  vision,  every 
avenue  of  his  spirit  was  open  to  the  influences  of 
nature.  Through  all  that  gorgeous  day  of  May  he 
had  been  drawing  these  influences  into  his  being 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  II 

as  the  vegetation  drew  in  light  and  moisture,  until 
his  soul  was  drenched  through  and  through,  and 
at  that  perfect  hour  of  dusk,  when  the  flowers  and 
grasses  exhaled  the  gifts  they  had  received  from 
heaven  and  earth  in  a  richer,  finer  perfume  like 
an  evening  oblation,  the  young  dreamer  was  also 
rendering  back  those  gifts  bestowed  by  heaven 
in  an  incense  of  purest  thought  and  aspiration. 
It  was  one  of  those  hours  that  come  occasionally 
in  that  sublime  period  of  unshattered  ideals  and 
unsullied  faith,  for  which  Pharaoh  and  Caesar 
would  have  exchanged  their  thrones,  Croesus  and 
Lucullus  bartered  their  wealth,  Solomon  and  Aris 
totle  forgotten  their  learning. 

Every  imaginative  youth  who  has  been  reared 
in  pure  surroundings  experiences  over  again 
in  these  rare  and  radiant  hours  all  the  bliss  that 
Adam  knew  in  Eden.  To  his  joyous,  eager 
spirit,  the  world  appears  a  new  creation  fresh  from 
the  hand  of  God.  He  hears  its  author  walking  in 
the  garden  at  eventide,  and  murmuring:  "Behold 
it  is  very  good."  A  single  element  of  disquietude, 
a  solitary,  vague  unrest  disturbs  him.  He  awaits 
his  Eve  with  longing,  but  has  no  dread  of  the 
serpent. 

At  sight  of  this  young  man  the  most  superficial 
observer  would  have  paused  to  take  a  second  look; 
an  artist  would  have  instinctively  seized  his  pencil 
or  his  brush;  a  scientist  would  have  paused  to 
inquire  what  mysterious  influences  could  have  pro 
duced  so  finely  proportioned  a  nature;  a  phil- 


12     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

osopher  to  wonder  what  would  become  of  him  in 
some  sudden  and  powerful  temptation. 

None  of  these  reflections  disturbed  the  mind  of 
the  barefooted  boy.  Having  suppressed  his  laugh 
ter,  he  tickled  the  sunburnt  neck  again.  Once  more 
the  hand  rose  automatically,  and  once  more  the 
boy  was  almost  strangled  with  delight.  The 
dreamer  was  hard  to  awaken,  but  his  tormentor  had 
not  yet  exhausted  his  resources.  No  genuine  boy 
is  ever  without  that  fundamental  necessity  of  child 
hood,  a  pin,  and  finding  one  somewhere  about  his 
clothing,  he  thrust  it  into  the  leg  of  the  plowman. 
The  sudden  sting  brought  the  soaring  saint  from 
heaven  to  earth.  In  an  instant  the  mystic  was  a 
man,  and  a  strong  one,  too.  He  seized  the  unsancti- 
fied  young  reprobate  with  one  hand  and  hoisted  him 
at  arm's  length  above  his  head. 

"Oh,  Uncle  Dave,  I'll  never  do  it  again !  Never ! 
Never!  Let  me  down." 

Still  holding  him  aloft  as  a  hunter  would  hold  a 
falcon,  the  reincarnated  "spirit"  laughed  long,  loud 
and  merrily,  the  echoes  of  his  laughter  ringing  up 
the  valley  like  a  peal  from  a  chime  of  bells.  The 
child's  fear  was  needless,  for  the  heart  and  hands 
that  dealt  with  him  were  as  gentle  as  a  woman's. 
The  youth,  resembling  some  old  Norse  god  as  he 
stood  there  in  the  gathering  gloom,  lowered  the 
child  slowly,  and  printing  a  kiss  on  his  cheek,  said: 

"Thee  little  pest,  thee  has  no  reverence!  Thee 
should  never  disturb  a  child  at  his  play,  a  bird 
on  his  nest  nor  a  man  at  his  prayers." 


THIS  OTHER  EDEN  13 

"But  thee  was  not  praying,  Uncle  Dave/'  the 
boy  replied.  'Thee  was  only  in  another  of  thy 
tantrums.  The  supper  has  grown  cold,  the  horses 
are  tired  and  Shep  and  I  have  walked  a  mile  to  call 
thee.  Grandmother  said  thee  had  a  trance.  Tell  me 
what  thee  has  seen  in  thy  visions,  Uncle  Dave?" 

"God  and  His  angels,"  said  the  young  mystic 
softly,  falling  again  into  the  mood  from  which  he 
had  been  so  rudely  awakened. 

"Angels!"  scoffed  the  young  materialist.  "If 
thee  was  thinking  of  any  angel  at  all,  I  will  bet 
thee  it  was  Dorothy  Fraser." 

"Tush,  child,  do  not  be  silly,"  replied  the  con 
victed  culprit.  For  it  was  easier  than  he  would 
care  to  admit  to  mingle  visions  of  beauty  with 
those  of  holiness. 

"I  am  not  silly.  Thee  would  not  dare  say  thee 
was  not  thinking  of  her.  She  thinks  of  thee." 

"How  does  thee  know?" 

"Because  she  gives  me  bread  and  jam  if  I  so 
much  as  mention  thy  name." 

This  did  not  offend  the  young  plowman,  to 
judge  by  the  expression  of  his  face;  but  he  said 
nothing,  and,  stooping  down,  loosened  the  chains 
of  the  whiffletree  and  turned  the  faces  of  the  tired 
horses  homeward.  The  cavalcade  moved  on  in 
silence  for  a  few  moments,  but  nothing  can  repress 
the  chatter  of  a  boy,  and  presently  he  began  again. 

"Uncle  Dave,  was  it  really  up  this  very  valley 
that  Mad  Anthony  Wayne  marched  with  his  brave 
soldiers?' 


14     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"This  very  valley/' 

"I  wish  I  could  have  been  with  him." 

"It  is  an  evil  wish.  Thee  is  a  child  of  peace. 
Thy  father  and  thy  father's  fathers  have  denied 
the  right  of  men  to  war.  Thee  ought  to  be  like 
them,  and  love  the  things  that  make  for  peace." 

"Well,  if  I  can  not  wish  for  war,  I  will  wish 
that  a  runaway  slave  would  dash  up  this  valley 
with  a  pack  of  bloodhounds  at  his  heels.  Oh, 
Uncle  Dave,  tell  me  that  story  about  thy  hiding 
a  negro  in  the  haystack,  and  choking  the  blood 
hounds  with  thine  own  hands." 

"I  have  told  thee  a  hundred  times." 

"But  I  \vant  to  hear  it  again." 

"Use  thy  memory  and  thy  imagination." 

"Oh,  no,  please  tell  me.  I  like  to  hear  some 
one  tell  something." 

"Thee  does?  Then  listen  to  the  whip-poor-will, 
the  cricket  or  the  brook." 

"I  hear  them,  but  I  do  not  know  what  they  say. 
Tell  me." 

"Tell  thee!  No  one  can  tell  thee,  child,  if  thee 
can  not  understand  for  thyself.  The  message 
differs  for  the  heaters,  and  the  difference  is  in  the 
ear  and  not  the  sound." 

They  both  paused  for  a  moment,  and  listened 
to  those  soothing  lullabies  with  which  nature  sings 
the  world  to  sleep.  So  powerful  was  the  tide  that 
floated  the  mystic  out  on  the  ocean  of  dreams, 
he  would  have  drifted  away  again  if  the  child  had 
not  suddenly  recalled  him. 


THIS   OTHER   EDEN  !j 

**I  can  not  make  out  what  they  say,"  he  cried, 
"and  anyhow  there  is  no  time  to  try.  Come,  let 
us  go.  Everybody  is  waiting  for  us." 

"  Thee  is  right,"  answered  his  uncle.  "Go  and 
let  down  the  bars  and  we  will  hurry  home." 

The  child,  bounding  forward,  did  as  he  was  told, 
and  the  tired  procession  entered  the  barnyard. 
The  plowman  fed  his  horses,  and  stopped  to  listen 
for  a  moment  to  their  deep-drawn  sighs  of  con 
tentment,  and  to  the  musical  grinding  of  the  oats 
in  their  teeth.  His  imaginative  mind  read  his  own 
thoughts  into  everything,  and  he  believed  that  he 
could  distinguish  in  these  inarticulate  sounds  the 
words,  "Good-night.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,'  he  said,  and  stroking  their  great 
flanks  with  his  kind  hand,  left  them  to  their  well- 
earned  repose.  On  his  way  to  the  house  he  stopped 
to  bathe  his  face  in  the  waters  of  a  spring  brook 
that  ran  across  the  yard,  and  then  entered  the 
kitchen  where  supper  was  spread. 

"Thee  is  late,"  said  the  woman  who  had 
watched  and  waited,  her  fine  face  radiant  with  a 
smile  of  love  and  welcome. 

"Forgive  me,  mother,"  he  replied.  "I  have  had 
another  vision." 

"I  thought  as  much.  Thee  must  remember  what 
thee  has  seen,  my  son,"  she  said,  "for  all  that  thee 
beholds  with  the  outer  eye  shall  pass  away,  while 
what  thee  sees  with  the  inner  eye  abides  forever. 
And  had  thee  a  message,  too?" 

"It  was  delivered  to  me  that  on  the  holy  Sabbath 


16     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

day  I  should  go  to  the  camp  in  Baxter's  clearing  and 
preach  to  the  lumbermen." 

"Then  thee  must  go,  my  son." 

"I  will,"  he  answered,  taking  her  hand  affection 
ately,  but  with  Quaker  restraint,  and  leading  her 
to  the  table. 

The  family,  consisting  of  the  mother,  an  adopted 
daughter  Dorothea,  the  daughter's  husband  Jacob 
and  son  Stephen,  sat  down  to  a  simple  but  bountiful 
supper,  during  which  and  late  into  the  evening  the 
young  mystic  pondered  the  vision  which  he 
believed  himself  to  have  seen,  and  the  message 
which  he  believed  himself  to  have  heard.  In  his 
musings  there  was  not  a  tremor  or  a  doubt;  he 
would  have  as  soon  questioned  the  reality  of  the 
old  farm-house  and  the  faces  of  the  family  gathered 
about  the  table.  Of  the  susceptibility  of  the  nerves 
to  morbid  activity,  or  the  powers  of  the  overdriven 
brain  to  objectify  its  concepts,  he  had  never  even 
dreamed.  He  was  a  credulous  and  unsophisticated 
youth,  dwelling  in  a  realm  of  imagination  rather 
than  in  a  world  of  reality  and  law.  He  had  much 
to  learn.  His  education  was  about  to  begin,  and  to 
begin  as  does  all  true  and  effective  education,  in  a 
spiritual  temptation.  The  Ghebers  say  that  when 
their  great  prophet  Ahriman  was  thrown  into  the 
fire  by  the  order  of  Nimrod,  the  flames  into  which 
he  fell  turned  into  a  bed  of  roses,  upon  which  he 
peacefully  reclined.  This  innocent  Quaker  youth 
had  been  reclining  upon  a  bed  of  roses  which  now 
began  to  turn  into  a  couch  of  flames. 


CHAPTER  II. 
AND  SATAN   CAME  ALSO 

"It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute 

That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute, 

And   ever  widening  slowly  silence   all." 

—Tennyson. 

At  the  moment  when  Stephen  was  sounding  the 
horn  to  summon  the  young  mystic  to  his  supper, 
a  promiscuous  crowd  of  loafers  with  chairs  tilted 
against  the  wall  of  the  village  tavern  received  a 
shock. 

They  heard  the  tinkle  of  bells  in  the  distance, 
and  looking  in  the  direction  of  this  unusual  sound, 
saw  a  team  of  splendid  coal-black  horses  dash  round 
a  corner  and  whirl  a  strange  vehicle  to  the  door 
of  the  inn. 

There  were  two  extraordinary  figures  on  the  front 
seat  of  the  wagon.  The  driver  was  a  sturdy,  thick 
set  man  whose  remarkable  personal  appearance 
was  fixed  instantly  and  ineradicably  in  the  mind  of 
the  beholder  by  an  enormous  moustache  whose 
shape,  size  and  color  suggested  a  crow  with  out 
stretched  wings.  As  if  to  emphasize  the  ferocious 
aspect  lent  him  by  this  hairy  canopy  which  com 
pletely  concealed  his  mouth,  Nature  had  duplicated 
it  in  miniature  by  brows  meeting  above  his  nose 
and  spreading  themselves,  plume-like,  over  a  pair  of 
eyes  which  gleamed  so  brightly  that  they  could  be 


18     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

felt,  altho'  they  were  so  deep-set  that  they  could 
scarcely  be  seen. 

This  fierce  and  buccaneerish  person  summoned 
the  dozing  hostler  in  a  coarse,  imperative  voice, 
flung  him  the  reins,  sprang  from  his  seat,  and  as 
sisted  his  companion  to  alight.  She  gave  him  her 
hand  with  an  air  of  utter  indifference,  bestowed 
upon  him  neither  smile  nor  thanks,  and  dropped 
to  the  ground  with  a  light  flutter  like  a  bird.  Turn 
ing  instantly  toward  the  tavern,  she  ascended  the 
steps  of  the  porch  under  a  fusillade  of  glances  of 
astonishment  and  admiration.  Young  and  beauti 
ful,  dressed  in  a  picturesque  and  brilliant  Spanish 
costume,  she  carried  herself  with  the  ease  and  dig 
nity  of  a  princess,  and  looked  straight  past,  or 
rather  through  the  staring  crowd,  fastened  like  in 
verted  brackets  to  the  tavern  wall.  Her  great, 
dreamy  eyes  did  not  seem  to  note  them. 

When  she  and  her  companion  had  entered  the 
hall  and  closed  the  door  behind  them,  every  tilted 
chair  came  down  to  the  floor  with  a  bang,  and  many 
voices  exclaimed  in  concert,  "Who  the  devil  is 
she?"  Curiosity  was  satisfied  at  eight  o'clock  in 
the  evening,  for  at  that  hour  Doctor  Paracelsus 
Aesculapius,  as  he  fantastically  called  himself, 
opened  the  doors  of  his  traveling  apothecary 
shop  and  exposed  his  "universal  panacea"  for  sale, 
while  at  the  same  time,  "Pepeeta,  the  Queen  of  For 
tune  Tellers,"  entered  her  booth  and  spread  out 
upon  a  table  the  paraphernalia  by  which  she  under 
took  to  discover  the  secrets  of  the  future. 


AND  SATAN  CAME  ALSO  19 

When  the  evening's  work  was  ended,  Pepeeta  at 
once  retired ;  but  the  doctor  entered  the  bar-room, 
followed  by  a  curious  and  admiring  crowd.  He  was 
in  a  happy  and  expansive  frame  of  mind,  for  he 
had  done  a  "land  office"  business  in  this  frontier 
village  which  he  was  now  for  the  first  time  visiting. 

"Have  a  drink,  b-b-boys?"  he  asked,  looking 
over  the  crowd  with  an  air  of  superiority  and  wav 
ing  his  hand  with  an  inclusive  gesture.  The  mot 
ley  throng  of  loafers  sidled  up  to  the  bar  with  a 
deprecatory  and  automatic  movement.  They  took 
their  glasses,  clinked  them,  nodded  to  their  enter 
tainer,  muttered  incoherent  toasts  and  drank  his 
health.  The  delighted  landlord,  feeling  it  incum 
bent  upon  him  to  break  the  silence,  offered  the 
friendly  observation:  "S-s-see  you  s-s-stutter. 
S-s-stutter  a  little  m-m-my  own  self." 

"Shake!"  responded  the  doctor,  who  was  in  too 
complacent  a  mood  to  take  offence,  and  the 
worthies  grasped  hands. 

"Don't  know  any  w-w-way  to  s-s-stop  it,  do 
you?"  asked  the  landlord. 

"No,  I  d-d-don't;  t-t-tried  everything.  Even  my 
'universal  p-p-panacea'  won't  do  it,  and  what  that 
can't  do  can't  be  d-d-done.  Incurable  d-d-disease. 
Get  along  all  right  when  I  go  slow  like  this;  but 
when  I  open  the  throttle,  get  all  b-b-balled  up. 
Bad  thing  for  my  business.  Give  any  man  a  thou 
sand  d-d-dollars  that'll  cure  me,"  the  quack  replied, 
slapping  his  trousers  pocket  as  if  there  were  mil 
lions  in  it. 


20     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Co-cocouldn't  go  q-q-quite  as  high  as  that ;  but 
wouldn't  mind  a  hu-hu-hundred,"  responded  the 
landlord  cordially. 

"Ever  hear  the  story  about  the  landlord's  troubles 
in  the  Mexican  war  ?"  asked  one  of  the  by-standers, 
turning  to  the  quack. 

"Tell  it,"  he  responded  laconically. 

Several  members  of  the  group  looked  at  each 
other  and  exchanged  significant  winks  as  the  nar 
rator  began  his  tale. 

;"They  made  him  sergeant  of  a  company,  but  had 
o  reduce  him  to  the  ranks,  because  when  he  was 
Irilling  the  boys  one  day  they  all  marched  into  the 
river  and  got  drowned  before  he  could  say  h-h-halt." 

The  doctor  laughed  and  the  others  joined  him 
out  of  courtesy,  for  the  story  was  worn  threadbare 
in  the  bar-room. 

"Tell  about  his  going  on  picket  duty,"  suggested 
some  one. 

"Captain  ordered  him  out  on  the  line,"  said  the 
first  speaker,  "and  he  refused.  'T-t-tain't  no  use/ 
says  he. 

"'Why  not?'  says  the  captain. 

"  'C-c-cause,'  says  he,  'if  some  d-d-dirty  Mexican 
g-g-greaser  should  c-c-come  along,  he'd  run  me 
through  the  g-g-gizzard  before  I  could  ask  him  for 
the  c-c-countersign.'  v 

More  tipsy  laughter  followed. 
"Tell  you  what  it  is,  b-b-boys,"  said  the  quack, 
growing  communicative  under  the  influence  of  the 
liquor    and    the    fellowship,     "if    it    wasn't    for 


AND  SATAN  CAME  ALSO  21 

this  b-b-blankety-blanketed  impediment  in  my 
s-s-speech,  I  wouldn't  need  to  work  more'n  about 
another  y-y-year!" 

"How's  that?"  asked  someone  in  the  crowd. 

"C-c-cause  if  I  could  talk  as  well  as  I  c-c-can 
think,  I  could  make  a  fortune  'side  of  which  old 
John  Jacob  Astor's  would  look  like  a  p-p-penny 
savings  b-b-bank !" 

"You  could?" 

"You  bet  your  sweet  life  I  c-c-could.  And  I'm 
just  keeping  my  eyes  open  for  some  young  f-f-fellow 
to  help  me.  For  'f  I  can  find  a  man  that  can  do 
the  t-talking  (I  mean  real  talk,  you  know;  talk  a 
crowd  blind  as  b-b-bats),  I've  got  something  bet- 
ter'n  a  California  g-g-gold  mine." 

"Better  get  Dave  Corson,"  said  the  village  wag 
from  the  rear  of  the  crowd,  and  up  went  a  wild 
shout  of  laughter. 

"Who's  D-D-Dave  Corson?"  asked  the  doctor. 

"Quaker  preacher.  Young  feller  'bout  twenty 
years  old." 

"Can  he  t-t-talk?" 

"Talk !  He  kin  talk  a  mule  into  a  trottin'  hoss  in 
less'n  three  minutes." 

"He's  my  man !"  exclaimed  the  doctor,  at  which 
the  crowd  laughed  again. 

"What  the  d-d-deuce  are  you  laughing  at?"  he 
asked,  turning  upon  them  savagely,  his  loud  voice 
and  threatening  manner  frightening  those  who 
stood  nearest,  so  that  they  instinctively  stepped  back 
a  pace  or  two. 


22     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"No  offence,  Doc/'  said  one  of  them ;  "but  you 
couldn't  get  him." 

"Couldn't  get  him!  Why  couldn't  I  g-g-get 
him?" 

"He's  pious." 

"Pious!    What  do  I  care?" 

"Well,  these  here  pious  Quakers  are  stiff  in  their 
notions.  But  you  kin  jedge  fer  yourself  'bout  his 
talkin',  fer  there's  goin'  ter  be  an  appinted  Quaker 
meetin*  to-morrow  night,  and  he'll  speak.  You 
kin  go  an'  listen,  if  you  want  to." 

"I'll  be  there,  boys,  and  d-d-don't  you  forget  it. 
I'll  hook  him !  Never  saw  anything  I  couldn't  buy 
if  I  had  a  little  of  the  p-p-proper  stuff  about  me. 
Drink  to  my  1-1-luck,  boys,  and  watch  me !" 

The  landlord  filled  their  glasses  once  more,  and 
low  gurglings,  smothered  swallows,  and  loud 
smacking  of  lips  filled  the  interim  of  interrupted 
conversation. 

"I  say,  Doc,  that  daughter  of  yours  knows  her  biz 
when  it  conies  to  telling  fortunes,"  ventured  a  young 
dandy,  whose  head  had  been  turned  by  Pepeeta',c 
beauty. 

"D-d-daughter!"  snapped  the  quack,  turning 
sharply  upon  him;  "she's  not  my  daughter,  she's 
my  wife !" 

"Wife!  Gosh!  You  don't  say?"  exclaimed  the 
crestfallen  dandy. 

"Yes,  wife!  And  I'll  j-j-just  warn  any  of  you 
young  f-f-fellers  that  if  I  catch  you  trying  to 
p-p-plow  with  my  heifer,  you'll  be  food  for  buzzards 
before  sun-up!" 


AND  SATAN   CAME  ALSO  23 

He  swept  his  eyes  savagely  round  the  circle  as  he 
spoke,  and  the  subject  dropped. 

The  conversation  turned  into  other  channels,  and 
flowed  in  a  maudlin,  sluggish  manner  far  into  the 
night.  Every  member  of  the  bibulous  party  was  as 
happy  as  he  knew  how  to  be.  The  landlord's  till  was 
full  of  money,  the  loafers  were  full  of  liquor,  and 
the  doctor's  heart  was  full  of  vanity  and  trust  in 
himself. 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  EGYPTIANS 

"Steal!  to  be  sure  they  may;  and  egad,  serve  your  best 
thoughts  as  gypsies  do  stolen  children, — disfigure  them  to  make 
them  pass  for  their  own."  —Sheridan. 

In  order  to  comprehend  the  relationship  of  this 
strangely  mated  pair,  we  must  go  back  five  or  six 
years  to  a  certain  day  when  this  same  Doctor 
Aesculapius  rode  slowly  down  the  main  street  of  a 
small  city  in  Western  Pennsylvania,  and  then  out 
along  a  rugged  country  highway.  A  couple  of 
miles  brought  him  to  the  camp  of  a  band  of  gypsies. 

A  thin  column  of  smoke  ascending  from  a  fire 
which  seemed  almost  too  lazy  to  burn,  curled  slow 
ly  into  the  air. 

Around  this  campfire  was  a  picturesque  group  of 
persons,  all  of  whom,  with  a  single  exception,  van 
ished  like  a  covey  of  quail  at  the  approach  of  the 
stranger.  The  man  who  stood  his  ground  was  a 
truly  sinister  being.  He  was  tall,  thin  and  angular; 
his  clothing  was  scant  and  ragged,  his  face  bronzed 
with  exposure  to  the  sun.  A  thin  moustache  of 
straggling  hairs  served  rather  to  exaggerate  than 
to  conceal  the  vicious  expression  of  a  hare-lipped 
mouth.  He  stood  with  his  elbow  in  the  palm  of  one 
hand  and  his  chin  in  the  other,  while  around  his 
legs  a  pack  of  wolf-like  dogs  crawled  and  growled 
as  the  traveler  drew  near.  Throwing  himself  light 
ly  to  the  ground  the  intruder  kicked  the  curs  who 

24 


THE  EGYPTIANS  25 

sprang  at  him,  and  as  the  terrified  pack  went  howl 
ing  into  the  door  of  the  tent,  said  cheerily. 

"Good-morning,  Baltasar." 

The  gypsy  acknowledged  his  salutation  with  a 
frown. 

"I  wish  to  sell  this  horse,"  the  traveler  added., 
without  appearing  to  notice  his  cold  reception. 

The  gypsy  swept  his  eye  over  the  animal  and 
shook  his  head. 

"If  you  will  not  buy,  perhaps  you  will  trade,"  the 
traveler  said. 

"Come,"  was  the  laconic  response,  and  so  saying, 
the  gypsy  turned  towards  the  forest  which  lay  just 
beyond  the  camp.  The  "doctor"  obeyed,  and  the 
dogs  sneaked  after  him,  still  growling,  but  keeping 
a  respectful  distance.  A  moment  later  he  found 
himself  in  a  sequestered  spot  where  there  was  an 
improvised  stable;  and  a  dozen  or  more  horses 
glancing  up  from  their  feed  whinnied  a  welcome. 

"Look  zem  over,"  said  the  gypsy,  again  putting 
his  elbow  in  his  left  hand  and  his  chin  in  his  right — 
a  posture  into  which  he  always  fell  when  in  repose. 

The  quack,  moving  among  the  animals  with  an 
easy  familiarity,  glanced  them  over  quickly  but  care 
fully,  and  shook  his  head. 

"What!"  exclaimed  the  gypsy  with  well  feigned 
surprise;  "ze  senor  doez  not  zee  ze  horse  he 
wanz?" 

"Horses!"  exclaimed  the  quack;  "these  are  not 
horses.  These  are  boneyards.  Every  one  of  them 
is  as  much  worse  than  mine  as  mine  is  than  the 


26     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

black  stallion  you  stole  in  Pittsburg  on  the  twenty- 
first  day  of  last  October." 

"Worze  zan  yourz !  It  eez  impozzeeble !"  an 
swered  the  gypsy,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the 
accusation.  "Ziz  horze  ov  yourz  eez  what  you  call 
a  crow-zcare!  Zhe  eez  two  hunner  year  ol\  Her 
teeth  are  fell  oud.  Zhe  haz  ze  zpavins.  Zhe  haz 
ze  ringa  bonze.  But,  senor,"  growing  suddenly 
respectful,  and  spreading  out  his  hands  in  open  and 
persuasive  gestures,  "ere  eez  a  horze  zat  eez  a 
horze.  Ee  knowz  more  zan  a  man!  Ee  gan  work 
een  ze  arnez,  ee  gan  work  een  ze  zaddle;  ee  gan 
drot;  ee  can  gallop;  ee  gan  bead  ze  winz!" 

The  gypsy  had  played  his  part  well  and  concealed 
with  consummate  art  whatever  surprise  he  might 
have  felt  at  the  charge  of  theft.  His  attitude  was 
free,  his  look  was  bold  and  his  manner  full  of 
confidence. 

The  demeanor  of  the  quack  suddenly  altered. 
From  that  of  an  easy  nonchalance,  it  turned  to  sav 
age  determination. 

"Baltasar,"  he  said,  his  face  white  and  hard;  "let 
us  stop  our  acting.  Where  is  that  stallion?" 

"Whad  ztallion?"  asked  the  imperturbable  gypsy, 
with  an  expression  of  child-like  innocence. 

"I  will  not  even  take  time  to  tell  you,  but  if  you 
do  not  take  me  to  him  this  instant  there  will  be  a 
dead  gypsy  in  these  woods,"  said  the  quack  fiercely. 

"Ze  zdranger  jesz!"  the  gypsy  answered  blandly, 
showing  his  teeth  and  spreading  out  the  palms  of 
his  hands. 


THE  EGYPTIANS  27 

The  quack  reached  into  his  bosom,  drew  forth  a 
pistol,  pointed  it  at  the  right  eye  of  the  gypsy,  and 
said:  "Look  into  the  mouth  of  that  and  tell  me 
whether  you  see  a  bullet  lying  in  its  throat !" 

"I  zink  zat  ze  seiior  an'  heez  piztol  are  boz  lying 
in  zeir  zroats,"  he  answered  with  easy  irony. 

"Good!  But  I  am  not  here  to  match  wits  with 
you.  I  want  that  horse,  and  lie  or  no  He,  I  will 
have  it.  Take  me  to  it,  or  I  swear  I  will  blow  out 
your  brains  as  sure  as  they  are  made  of  bacon  and 
baby  flesh!" 

The  gypsy  vouchsafed  no  reply,  but  turned  on 
his  heel  and  led  the  way  into  the  forest. 

After  a  walk  of  a  hundred  yards  or  more  they 
came  to  a  booth  of  boughs,  through  the  loose  sides 
of  which  could  be  seen  a  black  stallion. 

"Lead  him  out,"  said  the  doctor  imperatively; 
and  the  gypsy  obeyed. 

The  magnificent  animal  came  forth  snorting,  paw 
ing  the  ground  and  tossing  his  head  in  the  air. 

The  eye  of  the  quack  kindled,  and  after  regard 
ing  the  noble  creature  for  a  moment  in  silent  admi 
ration  he  turned  to  the  gypsy  and  said,  "Baltasar, 
do  not  misunderstand  me,  I  am  neither  an  officer 
of  the  law  nor  in  any  other  way  a  minister  of  justice. 
I  have  as  few  scruples  as  you  as  to  how  I  get  a 
horse;  but  we  differ  from  each  other  in  this,  that 
if  you  were  in  my  place  you  would  take  the  horse 
without  giving  an  equivalent.  Now  I  am  a  man 
of  mercy,  and  if  you  will  ask  a  fair  price  you  shall 
have  it.  But  mark  me !  Do  not  overreach  yourself 


28     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  kill  the  goose  that  is  about  to  lay  the  golden 

egg." 

"Wat  muz  be,  muz  be,"  the  gypsy  answered, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  as  if  in  the  presence  of  an 
inexorable  fate,  and  added:  "Ze  brice  iz  zwo  hun- 
ner  and  viftee  dollars,  wiz  ze  mare  drown  een." 

Putting  his  pistol  back  into  his  pocket  with  an  air 
of  triumph,  the  doctor  said:  "There  seems  to  be 
persuasive  power  in  cold  lead.  Stretch  forth  your 
palm  and  I  will  cross  it  for  you." 

The  gypsy  did  so,  and  into  that  tiger-like  paw  he 
counted  the  golden  coin;  at  the  musical  clink  of 
each  piece  the  eye  of  the  gypsy  brightened,  and 
when  he  closed  his  hand  upon  them  and  thrust  them 
into  his  pocket  his  hair-lip  curled  with  a  cynical 
smile. 

The  stranger  took  the  bridle  and  saddle  from  his 
mare,  placed  them  on  the  stallion  and  mounted. 

As  they  moved  forward  through  the  silent  forest 
the  gypsy  sang  softly  to  himself: 


'The  Romany  chal  to  his  horse  did  cry 

As  he  placed  the  bit  in  his  jaw, 
Kosko  gry,  Romany  gry, 
Muk,  man,  kuster,  tute  knaw." 


He  was  still  humming  this  weird  tune  when  they 
emerged  into  the  open  fields,  and  there  the  traveler 
experienced  a  surprise. 

A  little  rivulet  lay  across  their  path,  and  up  from 
the  margin  of  it  where  she  had  been  gathering  water 
cresses  there  sprang  a  young  girl,  who  cast  a 


THE  EGYPTIANS  29 

startled  glance  at  him,  then  bounded  swiftly  toward 
the  tent  and  vanished  through  the  opening. 

Now  it  happened  that  this  keen  admirer  of  horses 
was  equally  susceptible  to  the  charms  of  female 
beauty,  and  the  loveliness  of  this  young  girl  made 
his  blood  tingle.  In  her  hand  she  carried  a  bunch 
of  cresses  still  dripping  with  the  water  of  the  brook. 
A  black  bodice  was  drawn  close  to  a  figure  which 
was  just  unfolding  into  womanhood.  The  color  of 
this  garment  formed  a  striking  contrast  to  a  scarlet 
skirt  which  fell  only  a  little  below  her  knees.  On 
her  feet  were  low-cut  shoes,  fastened  with  rude 
silver  buckles.  A  red  kerchief  had  become  untied 
and  let  loose  a  wave  of  black  hair,  which  fell  over 
her  half  bare  shoulders.  Her  face  was  oval,  her 
complexion  olive,  her  eyes  large,  eager  and  lus 
trous. 

All  this  the  man  who  admired  women  even  more 
than  he  admired  horses,  saw  in  the  single  instant 
before  the  girl  dashed  toward  the  tent  and  disap 
peared.  So  swift  an  apparition  would  have  bewil 
dered  rather  than  illumined  the  mind  of  an  ordinary 
man.  But  the  quack  was  not  an  ordinary  man. 
He  was  endowed  with  a  certain  rude  power  of 
divination  which  enabled  him  to  see  in  a  single 
instant,  by  swift  intuition,  more  than  the  average 
man  discovers  by  an  hour  of  reasoning.  By  this 
natural  clairvoyance  he  saw  at  a  glance  that  this 
face  of  exquisite  delicacy  could  no  more  have  been 
coined  in  a  gypsy  camp  than  a  fine  cameo  could  be 
cut  in  an  Indian  wigwam.  He  knew  that  all 


30     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

gypsies  were  thieves,  and  that  these  were  Spanish 
gypsies.  What  was  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
conclude  with  inevitable  logic  that  this  child  had 
been  stolen  from  people  of  good  if  not  of  noble 
blood ! 

He  who  had  coveted  the  horse  with  desire,  hun 
gered  for  the  maiden  with  passion;  and  with  him, 
to  feel  an  appetite,  was  to  rush  toward  its  gratifica 
tion,  as  fire  rushes  upon  tow. 

"Baltasar!"  he  said. 

The  gypsy  turned. 

"You  are  a  girl-thief  as  well  as  a  horse-thief/' 

If  the  gypsy  had  felt  astonished  before,  he  was 
now  terrified  in  the  presence  of  a  man  who 
seemed  to  read  his  inmost  thoughts;  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  acknowledged  to  himself  that  he  had 
met  his  master  in  cunning. 

Bewildered  as  he  was  by  this  newr  charge,  he  still 
remembered  that  if  speech  was  silver,  silence  was 
golden,  and  answered  not  a  word. 

"Baltasar,"  continued  the  strange  man  on  horse 
back,  rightly  judging  from  the  gypsy's  confusion 
that  he  had  hit  the  mark  and  determining  to  take 
another  chance  shot;  "you  stole  this  girl  from  the 
family  of  a  Spanish  nobleman.  I  am  the  representa 
tive  of  this  family  and  have  followed  your  trail  for 
years.  You  thought  I  had  come  to  get  the  horse. 
You  were  mistaken;  it  was  the  girl!" 

"Perdita!"  exclaimed  the  gypsy,  taken  completely 
off  his  guard. 

"Lost  indeed,"  responded  the  quack,  scarcely  able 


THE  EGYPTIANS  31 

to  conceal  his  pride  in  his  own  astuteness.  And  then 
he  added  slowly:  "She  must  be  a  burden  to  you, 
Baltasar.  You  evidently  never  have  been  able  or 
never  have  dared  to  take  her  back  and  claim  the 
ransom  which  you  expected.  I  will  pay  you  for  her 
and  take  her  from  your  hands.  It  is  the  child  I 
want  and  not  vengeance/' 

"Ze  Caballero  muz  be  a  Duquende  (spirit)," 
gasped  the  gypsy. 

"At  any  rate  I  want  the  child.  You  were  reas 
onable  about  the  horse.  Be  reasonable  about  her, 
and  all  will  be  well." 

"Ze  Caballero  muz  be  made  of  gol'." 

The  horseman  drew  a  silver  coin  from  his  pocket 
and  flipped  it  into  the  waters  of  the  brook. 

The  gypsy's  face  gleamed  with  avarice  and 
springing  into  the  water  he  began  to  scrape  among 
the  stones  where  it  had  fallen. 

The  stranger  watched  him  for  awhile  with  an 
expression  of  mingled  amusement  and  contempt, 
and  finally  said :  "Baltasar,  I  am  in  haste.  You 
can  search  for  that  trifle  after  I  am  gone.  Let  us 
finish  our  business.  What  will  you  take  for  the 
girl?" 

Still  standing  in  the  water,  which  he  seemed  re 
luctant  to  leave,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  and 
replied :  "We  muz  azk  Chicarona.  Zhe  eez  my 
vife." 

"And  master  ?"  asked  the  quack,  smiling  sardoni 
cally. 

The  gypsy  did  not  answer,  but,  stepping  from  the 


32     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

brook  and  looking  backward,  reluctantly  led  the  way 
to  the  tent. 

"Chicarona!  Chicarona!"  he  cried  as  they  ap 
proached  it. 

The  flap  of  the  tent  was  thrown  suddenly  back 
ward,  and  three  figures  emerged — a  tall  and  stately 
woman,  a  little  elfish  child;  and  an  old  hag,  wrin 
kled,  toothless  and  bent  with  the  weight  of  unre 
corded  years.  The  woman  was  the  mother  of  the 
little  child  and  the  daughter  of  the  old  hag. 

"Chicarona,"  said  the  gypsy,  "ze  Gacho  az  byed 
ze  ztallion  for  zwo  hunner  an'  viftee  dollars,  an'  now 
he  wanz  to  buy  Pepeeta." 

"Wad  vor?"  she  asked. 

"Berhabs  he  zinkz  zhe  eez  a  prinzez,  I  dunno," 
he  answered,  digging  the  toe  of  his  bare  foot  ner 
vously  into  the  sand. 

"Zen  dell  'im  zat  he  zhold  not  look  vor  ztrawber- 
ries  in  ze  zea,  nor  red  herring  in  ze  wood,"  she  said 
with  a  look  of  scorn. 

The  eyes  of  the  stranger  and  the  gypsy  met.  They 
confronted  each  other  like  two  savage  beasts  who 
have  met  on  a  narrow  path  and  are  about  to  fight 
for  its  possession.  It  was  not  an  unequal  match. 
The  man's  eyes  regarded  the  woman  with  a  proud 
and  masterful  determination.  The  woman's  seemed 
to  burn  their  way  into  the  inmost  secrets  of  the 
man's  soul. 

Chicarona  was  a  remarkable  character.  In  her 
majestic  personality,  the  virtues  and  the  vices  of 
the  Spanish  Gypsy  fortune-teller  were  incarnate. 


THE  EGYPTIANS  33 

The  vices  were  legion;  the  virtues  were  two — the 
love  of  kindred,  and  physical  chastity — the  chastity 
of  the  soul  itself  being  unknown. 

"We  are  wasting  time  gazing  at  each  other  like 
two  sheep  in  a  pasture.  Will  you  sell  the  girl?"  the 
horseman  asked,  impatiently. 

"I  will  nod!"  she  answered,  with  proud  defiance 

"Then  I  will  take  her  by  force !" 

"Ah !  What  could  nod  ze  monkey  do,  if  he  were 
alzo  ze  lion !" 

"I  am  the  lion,  and  therefore  I  must  have  this 
lamb !" 

"Muz?  Say  muz  to  ze  clouds;  to  ze  winz;  to 
ze  lightningz;  but  not  to  Chicaronal" 

"If  you  do  not  agree  to  accept  a  fair  offer  for  this 
girl,  you  will  be  in  jail  for  kidnapping  her  in  less 
than  one  hour!" 

At  this  threat,  the  brilliant  black  eyes  emitted  a 
shower  of  angry  sparks,  and  she  exclaimed  in  deri 
sion,  "Ze  Buzno  will  dake  us  do  brizon,  hal  ha! 
ha!" 

"Ze  Buzno  will  dake  us  do  brizon,  hee!  hee! 
hee !"  giggled  the  little  impish  child  who  tugged  at 
her  skirts. 

"The  old  woman  pressed  forward  and  mumbled, 
"  'OF  oud  your  'an',  my  pretty  fellow.  Crozz  ze  ol' 
gypsy's  palm,  and  zhe  will  dell  your  fortune." 

With  every  new  refusal,  the  resolute  stranger 
became  still  more  determined.  "Pearls  are  not  to 
be  had  without  a  plunge,"  he  murmured  to  himself, 
and  dismounted. 


34     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Throwing  the  bridle  of  his  horse  over  the  limb 
of  a  tree,  he  approached  the  woman  with  a  threat 
ening  gesture. 

As  he  did  so,  the  three  female  figures  began  to 
revolve  around  him  in  a  circle,  pointing  their  rin 
gers  at  him  and  hissing  like  vipers.  As  the  old 
woman  passed  before  his  face  she  threw  a  handful 
of  snuff  in  his  eyes — an  act  which  has  been,  from 
time  immemorial,  the  female  gypsy's  last  resort. 

Had  he  been  less  agile  than  he  was,  it  would  have 
proved  a  finishing  stroke,  but  there  are  some  ani 
mals  that  can  never  be  caught  asleep,  or  even  nap 
ping,  and  he  was  one.  He  winked  and  dodged, 
and,  quicker  than  a  flash,  brought  the  old  crone  a 
sharp  cut  across  her  knuckles  with  his  riding  whip. 

As  he  did  so,  Baltasar  sprang  at  his  throat,  but 
he  once  more  drew  his  pistol  and  leveled  it  at  the 
gypsy's  head.  His  patience  had  been  exhausted. 

"Fool !"  he  cried,  "Bring  this  woman  to  reason. 
This  is  a  wild  country,  and  a  family  of  gypsies 
would  be  missed  as  little  as  a  litter  of  blind  puppies ! 
Bring  her  to  reason,  I  say,  or  I  will  murder  every 
one  of  you !" 

Once  more  shrugging  those  expressive  shoulders 
which  seemed  to  have  a  language  of  their  own,  the 
gypsy  said  "Chicarona,  you  do  not  luf  ze  leedle  pin- 
darri.  Zell  'er  to  ze  Buzno.  Ee  eez  made  of  gol'." 

As  Baltasar  uttered  these  words,  he  approached 
his  wife  and  whispered  something  in  her  ear  at 
which  she  started.  Turning  with  a  sudden  motion 
to  the  stranger,  she  fixed  her  piercing  eyes  upon 


THE  EGYPTIANS  35 

him  and  exclaimed,  "You  zay  you  know  ze  parenz 
of  zis  chil'?" 

"I  do." 

"You  lie!" 

"How,  then,  did  I  know  that  you  had  stolen  her?" 

"You  guezz  zat !  Any  vool  gan  guezz  zat !  I 
zdole  'er,  but  who  I  zdole  'er  vrom,  you  do  not  know 
any  more  zan  you  know  why  ze  frogs  zdop  zinging 
when  ze  light  zhines." 

"Ah !  You  did  steal  her,  did  you  ?  Why  do  gyp 
sies  steal  children  when  they  have  so  many  of  their 
own,  and  it  is  so  easy  to  raise  more,  Chicarona?" 

"Azk  ze  tiger  why  it  zpringz,  or  ze  lightning  why 
it  zdrikes !  I  will  alzo  azk  ze  Caballero  a  queztion. 
What  doez  he  wan*  wiz  zis  leedle  gurrl?" 

"To  be  a  father  to  her !"  he  answered,  with  a  sly 
wink  at  Baltasar. 

"Alzo'  I  am  dressed  in  wool,  I  am  no  sheep!  Tell 
me,"  she  cried,  stamping  her  foot. 

"Why  should  I  tell  secrets  to  one  who  can  read 
the  future  ?"  he  asked  banteringly. 

Chicarona's  mood  was  changing.  It  was  evident 
from  her  looks,  either  that  she  was  defeated  in  the 
contest  by  this  wily  and  resistless  combatant  or  that 
she  had  succumbed  to  the  temptation  of  his  money. 

"How  much  will  you  gif  vor  zis  chil'  ?"  she  asked. 

"One  hundred  dollars,"  he  replied. 

"One  hunner  dollars !  You  paid  more  zan  twize 
as  much  vor  ze  horze !  Eez  nod  a  woman  worth 
more  zan  a  horze  ?" 


36     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"She  will  be,  when  she  is  a  woman.  She  is  a  child 
now." 

"Let  me  zee  ze  color  of  your  money!" 

He  drew  a  leather  wallet  from  his  pocket  and 
held  it  tantalizingly  before  her  eyes. 

Its  influence  was  decisive  upon  her  avaricious 
soul,  and  she  clutched  at  it  wildly. 

"Put  it  into  my  han' !"  she  cried. 

"Put  Pepeeta  into  mine,"  he  said. 

"Pepeeta !    Pepeeta !"  she  called. 

"Pepeeta !    Pepeeta !"  shrilled  the  old  crone. 

Out  of  the  door  of  the  tent  she  came,  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  ground,  and  her  fingers  picking 
nervously  at  the  tinsel  strings  which  fastened  her 
bodice. 

"Gif  me  ze  money  and  take  her,"  said  Chicarona. 

He  counted  out  the  gold,  and  then  approached 
the  child.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  experi 
enced  an  emotion  of  reverence.  There  was  some 
thing  about  her  beauty,  her  helplessness  and  his 
responsibility  that  made  a  new  appeal  to  his  heart. 

Yielding  to  the  gentle  pressure  of  his  hand,  she 
permitted  herself  to  be  led  away.  Not  a  goodbye 
was  said.  Chicarona's  feeling  toward  her  had  been 
fast  developing  from  jealousy  into  hatred  as  the 
child's  beauty  began  to  increase  and  attract  atten 
tion.  The  others  loved  her,  but  dared  not  show  it. 
Not  a  sign  of  regret  was  exhibited,  except  by  the 
old  crone,  who  approached  her,  gave  her  a  stealthy 
caress,  and  secretly  placed  a  crumpled  parchment 
in  her  hand. 


THE  EGYPTIANS  37 

The  Doctor  lifted  the  child  upon  the  horse's  back 
and  climbed  into  the  saddle.  As  they  turned  into 
the  highway,  he  heard  Chicarona  say,  ''Bring  me  my 
pajunda,  Baltasar,  and  I  will  sing  a  grachalpa." 

The  beautiful  child  trembled,  for  the  words  were 
those  of  hatred  and  triumph.  She  trembled,  but 
she  also  wept.  She  was  parting  from  those  whose 
lives  were  base  and  cruel ;  but  they  were  the  only 
human  beings  that  she  knew.  She  was  leaving  a 
wagon  and  a  tent,  but  it  was  the  only  home  that 
she  could  remember.  In  a  vague  and  childish  way, 
she  felt  herself  to  be  the  sport  of  mysterious  pow 
ers,  a  little  shuttlecock  between  the  battledores  of 
Fortune.  Whatever  her  destiny  was  to  be,  there 
was  no  use  in  struggling,  and  so  she  sobbed  softly 
and  yielded  to  the  inevitable.  Her  little  hands  were 
folded  across  her  heart  in  an  instinctive  attitude  of 
submission.  Folded  hands  are  not  always  resigned 
hands;  but  Pepeeta's  were.  She  submitted  thus 
quietly  not  because  she  was  weak,  but  because  she 
was  strong,  not  because  she  was  contemptible,  but 
because  she  was  noble.  In  proportion  to  the 
majesty  of  things,  is  the  completeness  of  their  obedi 
ence  to  the  powers  that  are  above  them.  Gravita 
tion  is  obeyed  less  quietly  by  a  grain  of  dust  than 
by  the  rivers  and  planets.  Those  half-suppressed 
sobs  and  hardly  restrained  sighs  would  have 
softened  a  harder  heart  than  that  of  this  young  man 
of  thirty  years.  He  was  rude  and  unscrupulous, 
but  he  was  not  unkind.  His  breast  was  the  abiding 
place  of  all  other  passions  and  it  was  not  strange 


38     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

that  the  gentlest  of  all  should  reside  within  it,  nor 
that  it  should  have  been  so  quickly  aroused  at  the 
sight  of  such  loveliness  and  such  helplessness. 

To  have  a  fellow-being  completely  in  our  power 
makes  us  either  utterly  cruel  or  utterly  kind,  and  all 
that  was  gentle  in  that  great  rough  nature  went  out 
in  a  rush  of  tenderness  toward  the  little  creature 
who  thus  suddenly  became  absolutely  dependent 
upon  his  compassion.  After  they  had  ridden  a  little 
way,  he  began  in  his  rough  fashion  to  try  to  com 
fort  her. 

"Don't  cry,  Pepeeta !  You  ought  to  be  thankful 
that  you  have  got  out  of  the  clutches  of  those 
villains.  You  could  not  have  been  worse  off,  and 
you  may  be  a  great  deal  better!  They  were  not 
always  kind  to  you,  were  they  ?  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  they  beat  you  sometimes !  But  you  will  never  be 
beaten  any  more.  You  shall  have  a  nice  little  pony, 
and  a  cart,  and  flowers,  and  pretty  clothes,  and 
everything  that  little  girls  like.  I  don't  know  what 
they  are,  but  whatever  they  are  you  shall  have  them. 
So  don't  cry  any  more !  What  a  pretty  name  Pe 
peeta  is!  It  sounds  like  music  when  I  say  it.  I 
have  got  the  toughest  name  in  the  world  myself. 
It's  a  regular  jaw-breaker — Doctor  Paracelsus  Aes 
culapius!  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Pepeeta! 
But  then  you  need  not  call  me  by  the  whole  of  it! 
You  can  just  call  me  Doctor,  for  short.  Now, 
look  at  me  just  once,  and  give  me  a  pretty  smile. 
Let  me  see  those  big  black  eyes !  No?  You  don't 
want  to  ?  Well,  that's  all  right.  I  won't  bother  you. 


THE  EGYPTIANS  39 

But  I  want  you  to  know  that  I  love  you,  and  that 
you  are  never  going  to  have  any  more  trouble  as 
long  as  you  live/' 

These  were  the  kindest  words  the  child  had  ever 
had  spoken  to  her,  or  at  least  the  kindest  she  could 
remember.  They  fell  on  her  ears  like  music  and 
awakened  gratitude  and  love  in  her  heart.  She 
ceased  to  sigh,  and  before  the  ride  to  town  was 
ended  had  begun  to  feel  a  vague  sense  of  happiness. 

The  next  few  years  were  full  of  strange  adven 
tures  for  these  singular  companions.  The  quack 
had  discovered  certain  clues  to  the  past  history  of 
the  child  whom  he  had  thus  adopted,  and  was  firmly 
persuaded  that  she  belonged  to  a  noble  family.  He 
had  made  all  his  plans  to  take  her  to  Spain  and 
establish  her  identity  in  the  hope  of  securing  a 
great  reward.  But  just  as  he  was  about  to  execute 
this  scheme,  he  was  seized  by  a  disease  which 
prostrated  him  for  many  months,  and  threw  him 
into  a  nervous  condition  in  which  he  contracted 
the  habit  of  stammering.  On  his  recovery  from 
his  long  sickness  he  found  himself  stripped  of  every 
thing  he  had  accumulated;  but  his  shrewdness  and 
indomitable  will  remained,  and  he  soon  began  to 
rebuild  his  shattered  fortune. 

During  all  these  ups  and  downs,  Pepeeta  was 
his  inseparable  and  devoted  companion.  The  ad 
miration  which  her  childish  beauty  excited  in  his 
heart  had  deepened  into  affection  and  finally  into 
love.  When  she  reached  the  age  of  sixteen  or 


40     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

seventeen  years,  he  proposed  to  her  the  idea  of 
marriage.  She  knew  nothing  of  her  own  heart,  and 
little  about  life,  but  had  been  accustomed  to  yield 
implicit  obedience  to  his  will.  She  consented  and 
the  ceremony  was  performed  by  a  Justice  of  the 
Peace  in  the  city  of  Cincinnati,  a  year  or  so  be 
fore  their  appearance  in  the  Quaker  village.  An 
experience  so  abnormal  would  have  perverted,  if 
not  destroyed  her  nature,  had  it  not  contained  the 
germs  of  beauty  and  virtue  implanted  at  her  birth. 
They  were  still  dormant,  but  not  dead;  they  only 
awaited  the  sun  and  rain  of  love  to  quicken  them 
into  life. 

The  quack  had  coarsened  with  the  passing  years, 
but  Pepeeta,  withdrawing  into  the  sanctuary  of  her 
soul,  living  a  life  of  vague  dreams  and  half-con 
scious  aspirations  after  something,  she  knew  not 
what,  had  grown  even  more  gentle  and  submissive. 
As  she  did  not  yet  comprehend  life,  she  did  not  pro 
test  against  its  injustice  or  its  incongruity.  The 
vulgar  people  among  whom  she  lived,  the  vulgar 
scenes  she  saw,  passed  across  the  mirror  of  her  soul 
without  leaving  permanent  impressions.  She  per 
formed  the  coarse  duties  of  her  life  in  a  perfunc 
tory  manner.  It  was  her  body  and  not  her  soul, 
her  will  and  not  her  heart  which  were  concerned 
with  them.  What  that  soul  and  that  heart  really 
were,  remained  to  be  seen. 


CHAPTER  IV. 
THE  WOMAN 

"One  woman  is  fair,  yet  I  am  well;  another  is  wise,  yet  I  am 
well;  but  till  all  graces  be  in  one  woman,  one  woman  shall  not 
come  in  my  grace."  —Much  Ado  About  Nothing. 

True  to  his  determination,  the  doctor  devoted  the 
night  following  his  advent  into  the  little  frontier 
village  to  the  investigation  of  the  Quaker  preach 
er's  fitness  for  his  use.  He  took  Pepeeta  with  him, 
the  older  habitues  of  the  tavern  standing  on  the 
porch  and  smiling  ironically  as  they  started. 

The  meeting  house  was  one  of  those  conven 
tional  weather-boarded  buildings  with  which  all 
travelers  in  the  western  states  are  familiar.  The 
rays  of  the  tallow  candles  by  which  it  was  lighted 
were  streaming  feebly  out  into  the  night.  The  doors 
were  open,  and  through  them  were  passing  meek- 
faced,  soft-voiced  and  plain-robed  worshipers. 

The  silhouettes  of  the  men's  broad  hats  and  the 
women's  poke  bonnets,  seen  dimly  against  the  pale 
light  of  the  windows  as  they  passed,  plainly  re 
vealed  their  sect.  The  similarity  of  their  garments 
almost  obliterated  the  personal  identity  of  the 
wearers. 

The  two  strangers,  so  different  in  manners  and 
dress,  joined  the  straggling  procession  which  crept 
slowly  along  the  road  and  chatted  to  each  other 
in  undertones. 

41 


42     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"What  queer  people,"  said  Pepeeta. 
"Beat    the    Dutch,    and    you    know    who    the 
D-d-dutch  beat !" 

"What  sort  of  a  building  is  that  they  are  going 
into?" 

"That's  a  church." 
"What  is  a  church  for?" 

"Ask  the  marines !  Never  b-b-been  in  one 
more'n  once  or  twice.  G-g-g-guess  they  use  'em 
to  p-p-pray  in.  Never  pray,  so  never  go." 

"Why  have  you  never  taken  me?" 

"Why  should  I?" 

"We  go  everywhere  else,  to  theaters,  to  circuses, 
to  races." 

"Some  sense  in  going  there.    Have  f-f-fun !" 

"Don't  they  have  any  fun  in  churches  ?" 

"Fun !  They  think  a  man  who  laughs  will  go 
straight  to  the  b-b-bow-wows !" 

"What  are  they  for,  then,  these  churches?" 

"For  religion,  I  tell  you." 

"What  is  religion?" 

"Don't  you  know?" 

"No." 

"Your  education  has  been  n-n-neglected." 

"Tell  me  what  it  is!" 

"D-d-d-don't  ask  so  many  questions !  It  is  some 
thing  for  d-d-dead  folks." 

"How  dark  the  building  looks." 

"Like  a  b-b-barn." 

"How  solemn  the  people  seem." 

"Like  h-h-hoot  owls." 


THE  WOMAN  43 

"It  scares  me." 

"Feel  a  little  b-b-bit  shaky  myself;  but  it's  too 
late  to  b-b-back  out  now.  I'm  going  if  they  roast 
and  eat  me.  If  this  f-f-feller  can  talk  as  they  say  he 
can,  I  am  going  to  get  hold  of  him,  d-d-d-dead  or 
alive.  I'll  'have  him  if  it  takes  a  habeas  c-c-corpus." 

At  this  point  of  the  conversation  they  arrived  at 
the  meeting-house.  Keeping  close  together,  Pe- 
peeta  light  and  graceful,  the  doctor  heavy  and  awk 
ward,  both  of  them  thoroughly  embarrassed,  they 
ascended  the  steps  as  a  bear  and  gazelle  might 
have  walked  the  gang-plank  into  the  ark.  They 
entered  unobserved  save  by  a  few  of  the  younger 
people  who  were  staring  vacantly  about  the  room, 
and  took  their  seats  on  the  last  bench.  The  Quaker 
maidens  who  caught  sight  of  Pepeeta  were  visibly 
excited  and  began  to  preen  themselves  as  turtle 
doves  might  have  done  if  a  bird  of  paradise  had 
suddenly  flashed  among  them.  One  of  them  hap 
pened  to  be  seated  next  her.  She  was  dressed  in 
quiet  drabs  and  grays.  Her  face  and  person  were 
pervaded  and  adorned  by  simplicity,  meekness, 
devotion;  and  the  contrast  between  the  two  was  so 
striking  as  to  render  them  both  self-conscious  and 
uneasy  in  each  other's  presence. 

The  visitors  did  not  know  at  all  what  to  expect 
in  this  unfamiliar  place,  but  could  not  have  been 
astonished  or  awed  by  anything  else  half  so  much 
as  by  the  inexplicable  silence  which  prevailed.  If 
the  whole  assemblage  had  been  dancing  or  turning 
somersaults,  they  would  not  have  been  surprised, 


44     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

but  the  few  moments  in  which  they  thus  sat  looking 
stupidly  at  the  people  and  then  at  each  other  seemed 
to  them  like  a  small  eternity.  Pepeeta's  sensitive 
nature  could  ill  endure  such  a  strain,  and  she  be 
came  nervous. 

"Take  me  away,"  she  imploringly  whispered  to 
the  doctor,  who  sat  by  her  side,  ignorant  of  the 
custom  which  separated  the  sexes. 

He  tried  to  encourage  her  in  a  few  half-sup 
pressed  words,  took  her  trembling  hand  in  his  great 
paw,  pressed  it  reassuringly,  winked  humorously, 
and  then  looked  about  him  with  a  sardonic  grin. 

To  Pepeeta's  relief,  the  silence  was  at  last  broken 
by  an  old  man  who  rose  from  his  seat,  reverently 
folded  his  hands,  lifted  his  face  to  heaven,  closed 
his  eyes  and  began  to  speak.  She  had  never  until 
this  moment  listened  to  a  prayer,  and  this  address  to 
an  invisible  Being  wrought  in  her  already  agitated 
mind  a  confused  and  exciting  effect ;  but  the  prayer 
was  long,  and  gave  her  time  to  recover  her  self- 
control.  The  silence  which  followed  its  close  was 
less  painful  because  less  strange  than  the  other,  and 
she  permitted  herself  to  glance  about  the  room  and 
to  wonder  what  would  happen  next.  Her  curiosity 
was  soon  satisfied.  David  Corson,  the  young  mys 
tic,  rose  to  his  feet.  He  was  dressed  with  exqui 
site  neatness  in  that  simple  garb  which  lends  to  a 
noble  person  a  peculiar  and  serious  dignity.  Stand 
ing  for  a  moment  before  he  began  his  address,  he 
looked  over  the  audience  with  the  self-possession  of 
an  accomplished  orator.  The  attention  of  every 


THE  WOMAN  45 

person  in  the  room  was  at  once  arrested.  They  all 
recalled  their  wandering  or  preoccupied  thoughts, 
lifted  their  bowed  heads  and  fixed  their  eyes  upon 
the  commanding  figure  before  them. 

This  general  movement  caused  Pepeeta  to  turn, 
and  she  observed  a  sudden  transformation  on  the 
countenance  of  the  dove-like  Quaker  maiden.  A 
flush  mantled  her  pale  cheek  and  a  radiance  beamed 
in  her  mild  blue  eyes.  It  was  a  tell-tale  look,  and 
Pepeeta,  who  divined  its  meaning,  smiled  sympa 
thetically. 

But  the  first  word  which  fell  from  the  lips  of  the 
speaker  withdrew  her  attention  from  every  other 
object,  for  his  voice  possessed  a  quality  with  which 
she  was  entirely  unfamiliar.  It  would  have  charmed 
and  fascinated  the  hearer,  even  if  it  had  uttered  in 
coherent  words.  For  Pepeeta,  it  had  another  and 
a  more  mysterious  value.  It  was  the  voice  of  her 
destiny,  and  rang  in  her  soul  like  a  bell.  The  speech 
of  the  young  Quaker  was  a  simple  and  unadorned 
message  of  the  love  of  God  to  men,  and  of  their 
power  to  respond  to  the  Divine  call.  The  thoughts 
to  which  he  gave  expression  were  not  original,  but 
simply  distillations  from  the  words  of  Madam  Guy- 
on,  Fenelon,  Thomas  a  Kempis  and  St.  John ;  and 
yet  they  were  not  mere  repetitions,  for  they  were 
permeated  by  the  freshness  and  the  beauty  of  his 
own  pure  feelings. 

"We  are  all,"  said  he,  "the  children  of  a  loving 
Father  whom  the  heaven  of  heavens  cannot  contain, 
who  yet  dwells  in  every  contrite  human  heart 


46     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

as  the  light  of  the  great  sun  reproduces  itself  in 
every  drop  of  dew.  To  have  God  dwell  thus  in  the 
soul  is  to  enjoy  perfect  peace.  This  life  is  a  life  of 
bitterness  to  those  who  struggle  against  God,  a 
world  of  sorrow  to  those  vho  doubt  Him,  and  of 
darkness  to  those  who  refuse  His  sweet  illumina 
tion.  But  the  sorrow  and  the  struggle  end,  and 
the  darkness  becomes  the  dawn  to  every  one  who 
loves  and  trusts  the  heavenly  Father,  for  He  bestows 
upon  all  a  Divine  gift.  This  gift  is  the  'inner  light/ 
the  light  which  shines  within  the  soul  itself  and 
sheds  its  rays  upon  the  dark  pathway  of  existence. 
This  God  of  love  is  not  far  from  every  one  of  us  arid 
we  may  all  know  Him.  He  is  to  be  loved,  not 
hated ;  trusted,  not  feared !  Why  should  men  trem 
ble  at  the  consciousness  of  His  presence?  Does 
the  little  sparrow  in  its  nest  feel  any  fear  when 
it  hears  the  flutter  of  its  parent's  wings?  Does 
the  child  shudder  at  its  mother's  approaching 
footsteps  ?"  As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  paused 
and  awaited  an  answer. 

Each  sentence  had  fallen  into  the  sensitive  soul  of 
the  Fortune  Teller  like  a  pebble  into  a  deep  well. 
She  was  gazing  at  him  in  astonishment.  Her  lips 
were  parted,  her  eyes  were  suffused  and  she  was 
leaning  forward  breathlessly. 

"If  we  would  live  bravely,  hopefully,  tranquilly," 
he  continued,  "we  must  be  conscious  of  the  pres 
ence  of  God.  If  we  believe  with  all  our  hearts  that 
He  knows  our  inmost  thoughts,  we  shall  experience 
comfort  beyond  words.  This  life  of  peace,  of  aspira- 


THE  WOMAN  47 

tion,  of  communion,  is  possible  to  all.  The  evil  in 
us  may  be  overthrown.  We  may  reproduce  the  life 
of  Christ  on  earth.  We  may  become  as  He  was — 
one  with  God.  As  the  little  water  drop  poured  into 
a  large  measure  of  wine  seems  to  lose  its  own  nature 
entirely  and  take  on  the  nature  and  the  color  of  both 
the  water  and  the  wine;  or  as  air  filled  with  sun 
light  is  transformed  into  the  same  brightness  so 
that  it  does  not  appear  to  be  illuminated  by  another 
light  so  much  as  to  be  luminous  of  itself;  so  must  all 
feeling  toward  the  Holy  One  be  self-dissolved  and 
wholly  transformed  into  the  will  of  God.  For  how 
shall  God  be  all  in  all,  if  anything  of  man  remains 
in  man?" 

In  words  and  images  like  these  the  young  mystic 
poured  forth  his  soul.  There  were  no  flights  of 
oratory,  and  only  occasional  bursts  of  anything  that 
could  be  called  eloquence.  But  in  an  inexplicable 
manner  it  moved  the  heart  to  tenderness  and  thrilled 
the  deepest  feelings  of  the  soul.  Much  of  the  effect 
on  those  who  understood  him  was  due  to  the  truths 
he  uttered ;  but  even  those  who,  like  the  two  stran 
gers,  were  unfamiliar  with  the  ideas  advanced,  or 
indifferent  to  them,  could  not  escape  that  nameless 
influence  with  which  all  true  orators  are  endowed, 
and  were  thrilled  by  what  he  said.  In  our  ignorance 
we  have  called  this  influence  by  the  name  of 
"magnetism."  Whatever  it  may  be,  this  young 
man  possessed  it  in  a  very  high  degree,  and  when 
to  it  was  added  his  personal  beauty,  his  sincerity, 
and  his  earnestness,  it  became  almost  omnipotent 


48     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

over  the  emotions,  if  not  over  the  reason.  It  en 
slaved  Pepeeta  completely. 

It  was  impossible  that  in  so  small  a  room  a 
speaker  should  be  unconscious  of  the  presence  of 
strangers.  David  had  noticed  them  at  once,  and 
his  glance,  after  roaming  about  the  room,  invariably 
returned  and  fixed  itself  upon  the  face  of  the  For 
tune  Teller.  Their  fascination  was  mutual.  They 
were  so  drawn  to  each  other  by  some  inscrutable 
power,  that  it  would  not  have  been  hard  to  believe 
that  they  had  existed  as  companions  in  some  pre 
vious  state  of  being,  and  had  now  met  and  vaguely 
remembered  each  other. 

When  at  length  David  stopped  speaking,  it 
seemed  to  Pepeeta  as  if  a  sudden  end  had  come  to 
everything;  as  if  rivers  had  ceased  to  run  and  stars 
to  rise  and  set.  She  drew  a  long,  deep  breath, 
sighed  and  sank  back  in  her  seat,  exhausted  by  the 
nervous  tension  to  which  she  had  been  subjected. 

The  effect  upon  the  quack  was  hardly  less  re 
markable.  He,  too,  had  listened  with  breathless 
attention.  He  tried  to  analyze  and  then  to  resist  this 
mesmeric  power,  but  gradually  succumbed.  He 
felt  as  if  chained  to  his  seat,  and  it  was  only  by  a 
great  effort  that  he  pulled  himself  together,  took 
Pepeeta  by  the  arm  and  drew  her  out  into  the  open 
air. 

For  a  few  moments  they  walked  in  silence,  and 
then  the  doctor  exclaimed:  "P-p-peeta,  I  have 
found  him  at  last !" 

"Found  whom?"  she  asked  sharply,  irritated  by 


THE  WOMAN  49 

the  voice  which  offered  such  a  rasping  contrast  to 
the  one  still  echoing  in  her  ears. 

"Found  whom  ?  As  if  you  didn't  know !  I  mean 
the  man  of  d-d-destiny!  He  is  a  snake  charmer, 
Pepeeta !  He  just  fairly  b-b-bamboozled  you  !  I 
was  laughing  in  my  sleeve  and  saying  to  myself, 
'He's  bamboozled  Pepeeta;  but  he  can't  b-b-bam- 
boozle  me !'  When  he  up  and  did  it !  Tee-totally 
did  it !  And  if  he  can  bamboozle  me,  he  can  bam 
boozle  anybody." 

"Did  you  understand  what  he  said?"  Pepeeta 
asked. 

"Understand?  Well,  I  should  say  not!  The 
d-d-devil  himself  couldn't  make  head  nor  tail  out  of 
it.  But  between  you  and  me  and  the  town  p-p-pump 
it's  all  the  better,  for  if  he  can  fool  the  people  with 
that  kind  of  g-g-gibberish,  he  can  certainly  f-f-fool 
them  with  the  Balm  of  the  B-B-Blessed  Islands! 
First  time  I  was  ever  b-b-bamboozled  in  my  life. 
Feels  queer.  Our  fortune's  made,  P-p-pepeeta !" 

His  triumph  and  excitement  were  so  great  that 
he  did  not  notice  the  silence  and  abstraction  of 
his  wife.  His  ardent  mind  invariably  excavated  a 
channel  into  which  it  poured  its  thoughts,  digging 
its  bed  so  deep  as  to  flow  on  un  'iscious  of  every 
thing  else.  Exulting  in  the  prosj.  •:  of  attaching  to 
himself  a  companion  so  gifted,  ne~\  doubting  for  a 
moment  that  he  could  do  so,  reveling  in  the  dreams 
of  wealth  to  be  gathered  from  the  increased  sales 
of  his  patent  medicine,  he  entered  the  hotel  and 


50     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

made  straight  for  the  bar-room,  where  he  told  his 
story  with  the  most  unbounded  delight. 

Pepeeta  retired  at  once  to  her  room,  but  her 
mind  was  too  much  excited  and  her  heart  too  much 
agitated  for  slumber.  She  moved  restlessly  about 
for  a  long  time  and  then  sat  down  at  the 
open  window  and  looked  into  the  night.  For  the 
first  time  in  her  life,  the  mystery  of  existence 
really  dawned  upon  her.  She  gazed  with  a  new 
awe  at  the  starry  sky.  She  thought  of  that  Being 
of  whom  David  had  spoken.  Questions  which  had 
never  before  occurred  to  her  knocked  at  the  door 
of  her  mind  and  imperatively  demanded  an  answer. 
"Who  am  I  ?  Whence  did  I  come  ?  For  what  was 
I  created?  Whither  am  I  going?"  she  asked  her 
self  again  and  again  with  profound  astonishment  at 
the  newness  of  these  questions  and  her  inability  to 
answer  them. 

For  a  long  time  she  sat  in  the  light  of  the  moon, 
and  reflected  on  these  mysteries  with  all  the  power 
of  her  untutored  mind.  But  that  power  was  soon 
exhausted,  and  vague,  chaotic,  abstract  concep 
tions  gave  place  to  a  definite  image  which  had 
been  eternally  impressed  upon  her  inward  eyes.  It 
was  the  figure  oi  die  young  Quaker,  idealized  by 
the  imagination  ct  an  ardent  and  emotional  woman 
whose  heart  had  been  thrilled  for  the  first  time. 

She  began  timidly  to  ask  herself  what  was  the 
meaning  of  those  feelings  which  this  stranger  had 
awakened  in  her  bosom.  She  knew  that  they  were 
different  from  those  which  her  husband  inspired; 


THE  WOMAN  51 

but  how  different,  she  did  not  know.  They  filled  her 
with  a  sort  of  ecstasy,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to 
them.  Exhausted  at  last  by  these  vivid  thoughts 
and  emotions,  she  rested  her  head  upon  her  arms 
across  the  window  sill  and  fell  asleep.  It  must 
have  been  that  the  young  Quaker  followed  her  into 
the  land  of  dreams,  for  when  her  husband  aroused 
her  at  midnight  a  faint  flush  could  be  seen  by  the 
light  of  the  moon  on  those  rounded  cheeks. 

There  are  all  the  elements  of  a  tragedy  in  the 
heart  of  a  woman  who  has  never  felt  the  emotions 
of  religion  or  of  love  until  she  is  married! 


CHAPTER  V. 
THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES 


"Oh!  why  did  God  create  at  last 
This  novelty  on  earth,  this  fair  defect 
Of  nature,  and  not  fill  the  world  at  once 
With  men  as  angels,   without  feminine?" 

—Paradise    Lost. 


On  the  following  morning  the  preacher-plow 
man  was  afield  at  break  of  day.  The  horses,  re 
freshed  and  rested  by  food  and  sleep,  dragged 
the  gleaming  plowshare  through  the  heavy  sod  as  if 
it  were  light  snow,  and  the  farmer  exulted  behind 
them. 

That  universal  life  which  coursed  through  all  the 
various  forms  of  being  around  him,  bounded  in  tides 
through  his  own  veins.  The  fresh  morning  air,  the 
tender  light  of  dawning  day,  the  odors  of  plants  and 
songs  of  birds,  filled  his  sensitive  soul  with  unutter 
able  delight. 

In  the  midst  of  all  these  beauties  and  wonders, 
he  existed  without  self-consciousness  and  labored 
without  effort.  His  heart  was  pure  and  his  oneness 
with  the  natural  world  was  complete.  Whatever 
was  beautiful  and  gentle  in  the  manifold  operations 
of  the  Divine  Spirit  in  the  world  around  him, 
he  saw  and  felt.  To  all  that  was  horrible  and 
ferocious,  he  was  blind  as  a  child  in  Paradise.  He 
did  not  notice  the  hawk  sweeping  upon  the  dove, 
the  swallow  darting  upon  the  moth,  nor  the  lizard 

53 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  S3 

lying  in  wait  for  the  fly;  or,  if  he  did,  he  saw 
them  only  as  he  saw  the  shadows  flitting  across  the 
sunny  landscape.  His  soul  was  like  a  garden  full 
of  light,  life,  perfume,  color  and  the  music  of  sing 
ing  birds  and  whispering  leaves.  Before  his  inward 
eye  the  familiar  figures  of  his  daily  life  passed  and 
repassed,  but  among  them  was  also  a  new  one.  It 
was  the  figure  that  had  arrested  his  attention  and 
inspired  him  the  night  before. 

For  hours  he  followed  the  plow  without  the  con 
sciousness  of  fatigue,  but  at  length  he  paused  to  rest 
the  horses,  who  were  beginning  to  pant  with  their 
hard  labor.  He  threw  back  his  head,  drew  in  deep 
inspirations  of  pure  air,  glanced  about  and  felt  the 
full  tide  of  the  simple  joy  of  existence  roll  over  him. 
Life  had  never  seemed  sweeter  than  in  those  few 
moments  in  which  he  quaffed  the  brimming  cup  of 
youth  and  health  which  nature  held  to  his  lips.  Not 
a  fear,  not  an  apprehension  of  any  danger  crossed 
his  soul.  His  glances  roved  here  and  there,  paus 
ing  a  moment  in  their  flight  like  hummingbirds, 
to  sip  the  sweetness  from  some  unusually  beautiful 
cloud  or  tree  or  flower,  when  he  suddenly  caught 
sight  of  a  curious  equipage  flying  swiftly  down  the 
road  at  the  other  side  of  the  field.  The  spirited 
horses  stopped.  A  man  rose  from  the  seat,  put  his 
hands  to  his  mouth  like  a  trumpet,  uttered  a  loud 
"hallo,"  and  beckoned. 

David  tied  the  reins  to  the  plow  handles  and 
strode  across  the  fresh  furrows.  Vaulting  the  fence 
and  leaping  the  brook  which  formed  the  boundary 


54     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

line  of  the  farm,  he  ascended  the  bank  and  ap 
proached  the  carriage.  As  he  did  so  the  occupants 
got  out  and  came  to  meet  him.  To  his  astonish 
ment  he  saw  the  strangers  whom  he  had  noticed 
the  night  before.  The  man  advanced  with  a  bold, 
free  demeanor,  the  woman  timidly  and  with  down 
cast  eyes. 

"Good  morning,"  said  the  doctor. 

David  returned  his  greeting  with  the  customary 
dignity  of  the  Quakers. 

"My  name  is  Dr.  Aesculapius." 

"Thee  is  welcome." 

"I  was  over  to  the  m-m-meeting  house  last  night, 
and  heard  your  s-s-speech.  Didn't  understand  a 
w-w-word,  but  saw  that  you  c-c-can  talk  like  a 
United  States  Senator." 

David  bowed  and  blushed. 

"I  came  over  to  make  you  a  p-p-proposition. 
Want  you  to  yoke  up  with  me,  and  help  me  sell  the 
'B-B-Balm  of  the  Blessed  Islands/  You  can  do  the 
t-t-talking  and  I'll  run  the  b-b-business;  see?" 

He  put  his  thumbs  in  the  armholes  of  his  vest, 
spread  his  feet  apart,  squared  himself  and  smiled 
like  a  king  who  had  offered  his  throne  to  a  beggar. 

David  regarded  him  with  a  look  of  astonishment. 

"What  do  you  s-s-say?" 

Gravely,  placidly,  the  young  Quaker  answered: 
"I  thank  thee,  friend,  for  what  thee  evidently  means 
as  a  kindness,  but  I  must  decline  thy  offer." 

"Decline  my  offer?  Are  you  c-c-crazy?  Why 
do  you  d-d-decline  my  offer?" 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  55 

"Because  I  have  no  wish  to  leave  my  home  and 
work/' 

'Although  his  answer  was  addressed  to  the  man, 
his  eyes  were  directed  to  the  woman.  His  reply, 
simple  and  natural  enough,  astounded  the  quack. 

"What !"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  you  mean  that  you 
p-p-prefer  to  stay  in  this  p-p-pigstye  of  a  town  to 
becoming  a  citizen  of  the  g-g-great  world?" 

"I  do." 

"But  listen;  I  will  pay  you  more  money  in  a 
single  month  than  you  can  earn  by  d-d-driving  your 
plow  through  that  b-b-black  mud  for  a  whole  year." 

"I  have  no  need  and  no  desire  for  more  money 
than  I  can  earn  by  daily  toil." 

"No  need  and  no  desire  for  money!  B-b-bah! 
You  are  not  talking  to  sniveling  old  women  and 
crack-b-b-brained  old  men ;  but  to  a  f-f-feller  who 
can  see  through  a  two-inch  plank,  and  you  can't 
p-p-pass  off  any  of  your  religious  d-d-drivel  on 
him,  either." 

This  coarse  insult  went  straight  to  the  soul  of 
the  youth.  His  blood  tingled  in  his  veins.  There 
was  a  tightening  around  his  heart  of  something 
which  was  out  of  place  in  the  bosom  of  a  Quaker. 
A  hot  reply  sprang  to  his  lips,  but  died  away  as  he 
glanced  at  the  woman,  and  saw  her  face  mantled 
with  an  angry  flush. 

Calmed  by  her  silent  sympathy,  he  quietly  re 
plied  :  "Friend,  I  have  no  desire  to  annoy  thee,  but 
I  have  been  taught  that  'the  love  of  money  is  the 


56     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

root  of  all  evil/  and  believing  as  I  do  I  could  not 
answer  thee  otherwise  than  I  did." 

It  was  evident  from  the  look  upon  the  counte 
nance  of  the  quack  that  he  had  met  with  a  new  and 
incomprehensible  type  of  manhood.  He  gazed  at 
the  Quaker  a  moment  in  silence  and  then  exclaimed, 
"Young  man,  you  may  mean  what  you  say,  b-b-but 
you  have  been  most  infernally  abused  by  the 
p-p-people  who  have  put  such  notions  in  your 
head,  for  there  is  only  one  substantial  and  abiding 
g-g-good  on  earth,  and  that  is  money.  Money  is 
power,  money  is  happiness,  money  is  God;  get 
money!  get  it  anywhere!  get  it  anyhow,  but 
g-g-get  it." 

\  Instead  of  mere  resentment  for  a  personal  insult, 
David  now  felt  a  tide  of  righteous  indignation  rising 
in  his  soul  at  this  scorn  and  denial  of  those  eternal 
principles  of  truth  and  duty  which  he  felt  to  be  the 
very  foundations  of  the  moral  universe. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  with  the  voice  and  mien  of  an 
apostle,  "I  perceive  that  thou  art  in  the  gall  of  bit 
terness  and  the  bonds  of  iniquity.  Thy  money  per 
ish  with  thee.  The  God  of  this  world  hath  blinded 
thine  eyes." 

The  quack,  who  now  began  to  take  a  humorous 
view  of  the  innocence  of  the  youth,  burst  into  a 
boisterous  guffaw. 

"Well,  well/'  he  said  in  mingled  scorn  and  pity, 
"reckon  you  are  more  to  be  pitied  than  b-b-blamed. 
Fault  of  early  education!  Talk  like  a  p-p-parrot! 
What  can  a  young  fellow  like  you  know  about  life, 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  57 

shut  up  here  in  this  seven-by-nine  valley,  like  a 
man  in  a  b-b-barrel  looking  out  of  the  b-b-bung- 
hole?" 

Offended  and  disgusted,  the  Quaker  was  about  to 
turn  upon  his  heel ;  but  he  saw  in  the  face  of  the 
man's  beautiful  companion  a  look  which  said  plainly 
as  spoken  words,  "I,  too,  desire  that  you  should  go 
with  us." 

This  look  changed  his  purpose,  and  he  paused. 

"Listen  to  me  now,"  continued  the  doctor,  ob 
serving  his  irresolution.  "You  think  you  know 
what  life  is;  but  you  d-d-don't!  Do  you  know 
what  g-g-great  cities  are?  Do  you  know  what  it 
is  to  m-m-mix  with  crowds  of  men,  to  feel  and 
perhaps  to  sway  their  p-p-passions  ?  Do  you  know 
what  it  is  to  p-p-possess  and  to  spend  that  money 
which  you  d-d-despise?  Do  you  know  what  it  is 
to  wear  fine  clothes,  to  d-d-drink  rare  wines,  to  see 
great  sights,  to  go  where  you  want  to  and  to  do 
what  you  p-p-please?" 

"I  do  not,  nor  do  I  wish  to.  And  thee  must  aban 
don  these  follies  and  sins,  if  thee  would  enter  the 
Kingdom  of  God,"  David  replied,  fixing  his  eyes 
sternly  upon  the  face  of  the  blasphemer. 

"God!  Ha,  ha,  ha!  Who  is  He,  anyhow ?  Same 
old  story!  Fools  that  can't  enjoy  life,  d-d-don't 
want  any  one  else  to  !  Ever  hear  'bout  the  fox  that 
got  his  tail  b-b-bit  off  ?  Wanted  all  the  rest  to  have 
theirs !  WThat  the  d-d-deuce  are  we  here  in  this 
world  for?  T-t-tell  me  that,  p-p-parson I" 


58     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"To  do  the  will  of  our  Father  which  is  in  heav 
en." 

"To  do  the  will  of  our  Father  in  heaven !  I  know 
but  one  will,  and  it  is  the  w-w-will  of  Doctor 
P-p-paracelsus  Aesculapius.  I'm  my  own  lord 
and  law,  I  am/' 

"Know  thou  that  for  all  thy  idle  words,  God  will 
bring  thee  to  judgment?"  David  answered  solemnly. 

"Rot!"  muttered  the  doctor,  disgusted  beyond 
endurance,  and  concluding  the  interview  with  the 
cynical  farewell, 

"Good-bye,  d-d-dead  man !  I  have  always  hated 
c-c-corpses !  I  am  going  where  men  have  red 
b-b-blood  in  their  veins." 

With  these  words  he  turned  on  his  heel  and 
started  toward  the  carriage,  leaving  David  and  Pe- 
peeta  alone.  Neither  of  them  moved.  The  gypsy 
nervously  plucked  the  petals  from  a  daisy  and  the 
Quaker  gazed  at  her  face.  During  these  few  mo 
ments  nature  had  not  been  idle.  In  air  and  earth 
and  tree  top,  following  blind  instincts,  her  myriad 
children  were  seeking  their  mates.  And  here,  in 
the  odorous  sunshine  of  the  May  morning,  these 
two  young,  impressionable  and  ardent  beings,  yield 
ing  themselves  unconsciously  to  the  same  mysteri 
ous  attraction  which  was  uniting  other  happy 
couples,  were  drawn  together  in  a  union  which  time 
could  not  dissolve  and  eternity,  perhaps,  cannot 
annul. 

Having  stalked  indignantly  onward  for  a  few 
paces,  the  doctor  discovered  that  his  wife  had  not 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  59 

followed  him,  and  turning  he  called  savagely :  "Pe- 
peeta,  come !  It  is  folly  to  try  and  p-p-persuade 
him.  Let  us  leave  the  saint  to  his  prayers!  But 
let  him  remember  the  old  p-p-proverb,  'young  saint, 
old  sinner!'  Come!" 

He  proceeded  towards  the  carriage;  but  Pepeeta 
seemed  rooted  to  the  ground,  and  David  was  equally 
incapable  of  motion.  While  they  stood  thus,  gazing 
into  each  other's  eyes,  they  saw  nothing  and  they 
saw  all.  That  brief  glance  was  freighted  with  des 
tiny.  A  subtle  communication  had  taken  place 
between  them,  although  they  had  not  spoken;  for 
the  eye  has  a  language  of  its  own. 

What  was  the  meaning  of  that  glance?  What 
was  the  emotion  that  ga*Ve  it  birth  in  the  soul? 
He  knew!  It  told  its  own  story.  To  their  dying 
day,  the  actors  in  that  silent  drama  remembered  that 
glance  with  rapture  and  with  pain. 

Pepeeta  spoke  first,  hurriedly  and  anxiously: 
"What  did  you  say  last  night  about  the  'light  of 
life?'  Tell  me!  I  must  know." 

"I  said  there  is  a  light  that  lighteth  every  man 
that  cometh  into  the  world." 

"And  what  did  you  mean?  Be  quick.  There  is 
only  a  moment." 

"I  meant  that  there  is  a  light  that  shines  from 
the  soul  itself  and  that  in  this  light  we  may  walk, 
and  he  who  walks  in  it,  walks  safely.  He  need 
never  fall!" 

"Never?  I  do  not  understand;  it  is  beautiful; 
but  I  do  not  understand  !" 


60    THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Pepeeta!"  called  her  husband,  angrily. 

She  turned  away,  and  David  watched  her  gliding 
out  of  his  sight,  with  an  irrepressible  pain  and  long 
ing.  "I  suppose  she  is  his  daughter,"  he  said  to 
himself,  and  upon  that  natural  but  mistaken  in 
ference  his  whole  destiny  turned.  Something 
seemed  to  draw  him  after  her.  He  took  a  step  or 
two,  halted,  sighed  and  returned  to  his  labor. 

But  it  was  to  a  strangely  altered  world  that  he 
went.  Its  glory  had  vanished ;  it  was  desolate  and 
empty,  or  so  at  least  it  seemed  to  him,  for  he 
confounded  the  outer  and  the  inner  worlds,  as  it 
was  his  nature  and  habit  to  do.  It  was  in  his  soul 
that  the  change  had  taken  place.  The  face  of  a 
bad  man  and  of  an  incomprehensible  woman  fol 
lowed  him  through  the  long  furrows  until  the  sun 
went  down.  He  was  vaguely  conscious  that  he  had 
for  the  first  time  actually  encountered  those  stren 
uous  elements  which  draw  manhood  from  its  moor 
ings.  He  felt  humiliated  by  the  recognition  that  he 
was  living  a  dream  life  there  in  his  happy  valley; 
and  that  there  was  a  life  outside  which  he  could  not 
master  so  easily.  That  confidence  in  his  strength 
and  incorruptibility  which  he  had  always  felt  began 
to  waver  a  little.  His  innocence  appeared  to  him 
like  that  of  the  great  first  father  in  the  garden  of 
Eden,  before  his  temptation,  and  now  that  he  too 
had  listened  to  the  voice  of  the  serpent  and  had  for 
the  first  time  been  stirred  at  the  description  of  the 
sweetness  of  the  great  tree's  fruit,  there  came  to  him 
a  feeling  of  foreboding  as  to  the  future.  He  was 


THE  LIGHT  THAT  LIES  6l 

Astonished  that  such  characters  as  those  he  had  just 
seen  did  not  excite  in  him  loathing  and  repulsion. 
Why  could  he  not  put  them  instantly  and  forever 
out  of  his  mind?  How  could  they  possess  any  at 
tractiveness  for  him  at  all — such  a  blatant,  vulgar 
man  or  such  an  ignorant,  ah!  but  beautiful,  woman; 
for  she  was  beautiful!  Yes — beautiful  but  bad! 
But  no — such  a  beautiful  woman  could  not  be  bad. 
See  how  interested  she  was  about  the  "inner  light." 
She  must  be  very  ignorant;  but  she  was  very  at 
tractive.  What  eyes !  What  lips ! 

Thoughts  which  he  had  always  been  able  to  expel 
from  his  mind  before,  like  evil  birds  fluttered  again 
and  again  into  the  windows  of  his  soul.  For  this  he 
upbraided  himself;  but  only  to  discover  that  at  the 
very  moment  when  he  regretted  that  he  had  been 
tempted  at  all,  he  also  regretted  that  he  had  not 
been  tempted  further. 

All  day  long  his  agitated  spirit  alternated  between 
remorse  that  he  had  enjoyed  so  much,  and  regret 
that  he  had  enjoyed  so  little.  Never  had  he  experi 
enced  such  a  tumult  in  his  soul.  He  struggled  hard, 
but  he  could  not  tell  whether  he  had  conquered  or 
been  defeated. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  retired  to  his  room  at  night 
and  thrown  himself  upon  his  knees,  that  he  be 
gan  to  regain  peace.  There,  in  the  stillness  of  his 
chamber,  he  strove  for  the  control  of  his  thoughts 
and  emotions,  and  fell  asleep  after  long  and  pray 
erful  struggles,  with  the  sweet  consciousness  of  a 
spiritual  triumph! 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT 

"Every  man  living  shall  assuredly  meet  with  an  hour  of 
temptation,  a  critical  hour  which  shall  more  especially  try  what 
metal  his  heart  is  made  of."  —South. 

It  was  long  after  he  had  awakened  in  the  morn 
ing  before  the  memory  of  the  adventure  of  yes 
terday  recurred  to  David's  mind.  His  sleep  had 
been  as  deep  as  that  of  an  infant,  and  his  rest  in 
the  great  ocean  of  oblivion  had  purified  him,  so  that 
when  he  did  at  last  recall  the  experience  which  had 
affected  him  so  deeply,  it  was  with  indifference. 
The  charm  had  vanished.  Even  the  gypsy's  beauty 
paled  in  the  light  of  the  Holy  Sabbath  morning. 
He  could  think  of  her  with  entire  calmness,  and  so 
thoroughly  had  the  evil  vanished  that  he  hoped  it 
had  disappeared  forever.  But  he  had  yet  to  learn 
that  before  evil  can  be  successfully  forgotten  it 
must  be  heroically  overcome. 

He  did  not  yet  realize  this,  however,  and  his  bath, 
his  morning  prayer,  a  passage  from  the  gospel,  the 
hearty  breakfast,  the  kind  and  trustful  faces  of  his 
family,  dispelled  the  last  cloud  from  the  sky  of  his 
soul.  Having  finished  the  round  of  morning  duties, 
he  made  himself  ready  to  visit  the  lumber  camp, 
there  to  discharge  the  sacred  duty  revealed  to  him 
in  the  vision. 

The  confidence  reposed  by  the  genuine  Quaker 
in  such  intimations  of  the  Spirit  is  absolute.  They 

63 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT     63 

are  to  him  as  imperative  as  the  audible  voice  of 
God  to  Moses  by  the  burning  bush. 

"Farewell,  mother,  I  am  off,"  he  said,  kissing  her 
upon  the  white  forehead. 

'Thee  is  going  to  the  lumber  camp,  my  son?" 
she  asked,  regarding  him  with  ill-concealed  pride. 

"I  am,  and  hope  to  press  the  truth  home  to 
the  hearts  of  those  who  shall  hear  me,"  replied  the 
young  devotee,  his  face  lighting  up  with  the  blended 
rapture  of  religious  enthusiasm,  youth  and  health. 

"The  Lord  be  with  thee  and  make  thy  ministra 
tions  fruitful,"  his  mother  said,  and  with  this  bless 
ing  he  set  off. 

As  the  young  mystic  had  yesterday  thought  the 
world  dark  and  stormy  because  of  the  tempest  in 
his  soul,  so  now  he  thought  it  still  and  peaceful,  be 
cause  of  his  inward  calm.  The  very  intensity  of  his 
recent  struggles  had  rendered  his  soul  acutely 
sensitive,  like  a  delicate  musical  instrument  which 
responded  freely  to  the  innumerable  ringers  where 
with  Nature  struck  its  keys.  Her  manifold  forms, 
her  gorgeous  colors,  her  gigantic  forces  thrilled 
and  intoxicated  him. 

That  sense  of  fellowship  with  all  the  forms  of  life 
about  him,  which  is  characteristic  of  all  our  mo 
ments  of  deepest  rapture  in  the  embrace  of 
Nature,  filled  his  soul  with  joy.  He  accosted  the 
trees  as  one  greets  a  friend;  he  chatted  with  the 
brooks ;  he  held  conversation  with  the  little  lambs 
skipping  in  the  pastures,  and  with  the  horses  that 
whinnied  as  he  passed. 


64     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Such  opulent  moments  come  to  all  in  youth; 
moments  when  the  soul,  unconscious  of  its  chains 
because  they  have  not  been  stretched  to  their  limits, 
roams  the  universe  with  God-like  liberty  and  joy. 

Had  he  been  asked  to  analyze  these  exquisite 
emotions,  the  young  Quaker  would  have  said  that 
they  were  the  joys  of  the  indwelling  of  the  Divine 
Spirit.  He  did  not  realize  how  much  of  his  exhil 
aration  came  from  the  feelings  awakened  by  the  ex 
periences  of  the  day  before.  One  might  almost 
say  that  a  spiritual  fragrance  from  the  woman  who 
had  crossed  his  path  was  diffusing  itself  through 
the  chambers  of  his  soul.  It  was  like  the  odor  of 
violets  which  lingers  after  the  flowers  themselves 
are  gone. 

Up  to  this  time,  he  had  never  felt  the  mighty 
and  mysterious  emotion  of  love.  More  than  once, 
when  he  had  seen  the  calm  face  of  Dorothy  Eraser, 
soft  and  tender  feelings  had  arisen  in  his  heart ;  but 
they  were  only  the  first  faint  gleams  of  that  con 
flagration  which  sooner  or  later  breaks  forth  in  the 
souls  of  men  like  him. 

It  was  this  confusion  of  the  sources  of  his  happi 
ness  which  made  him  oblivious  to  the  struggle  that 
was  still  going  on  within  his  mind.  The  question 
had  been  raised  there  as  to  whether  he  had  chosen 
wisely  in  turning  his  back  upon  the  joys  of  an 
earthly  life  for  the  joys  of  heaven.  It  had  not  been 
settled,  and  was  waiting  an  opportunity  to  thrust 
itself  again  before  his  consciousness.  In  the  mean 
time  he  was  happy.  Never  had  he  seemed  to  him- 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  65 

self  ttivre  perfectly  possessed  by  the  Divine  Spirit 
than  at  the  moment  when  he  reached  the  summit  of 
the  last  hill,  and  looked  down  into  the  valley  where 
lay  the  lumber-camp.  He  paused  to  gaze  upon  a 
scene  of  surpassing  loveliness,  and  was  for  a  mo 
ment  absorbed  by  its  beauty;  but  a  sudden  dis 
covery  startled  and  disturbed  him.  There  was  no 
smoke  curling  from  the  chimneys.  There  were  no 
forms  of  men  moving  about  in  their  brilliant  woolen 
shirts;  he  listened  in  vain  for  voices;  he  could  not 
even  hear  the  yelp  of  the  ever-watchful  dogs. 

"Can  it  be  possible  that  I  have  been  deceived 
by  my  vision?"  he  asked  himself. 

It  was  the  first  real  skepticism  of  his  life, 
and  crowding  it  back  into  his  heart  as  best 
he  could,  he  pressed  on,  excited  and  curious. 
As  he  approached  the  rude  structure,  the  signs 
of  its  desertion  became  indubitable.  He  called, 
but  heard  only  the  echo  of  his  own  voice.  He 
tried  the  door,  and  it  opened.  Through  it  he 
entered  the  low-ceiled  room.  On  every  hand  were 
evidences  of  recent  departure;  living  coals  still 
glowed  in  the  ashes  and  crumbs  were  scattered  on 
the  tables.  There  could  be  no  longer  any  doubt  that 
the  lumbermen  had  vanished.  The  last  and  most 
incontrovertible  proof  was  tacked  upon  the  wall 
in  the  shape  of  a  flat  piece  of  board  on  which 
were  written  in  a  rude  scrawl  these  words:  "We 
have  gone  to  the  Big  Miami." 

The  face  so  bright  and  clear  a  moment  ago  was 
clouded  now.  He  read  the  sentence  over  and  over 


66     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

again.  He  sat  down  upon  a  bench  and  meditated, 
then  rose  and  went  out,  walking  around  the 
cabin  and  returning  to  read  the  message  once  more. 
If  he  had  spoken  the  real  sentiment  of  his  heart 
he  would  have  said :  "I  have  been  deceived."  He 
did  not  speak,  however,  but  struggled  bravely  to 
throw  off  the  feelings  of  surprise  and  doubt ;  and  so, 
reassuring  his  faith  again  and  again  by  really  noble 
efforts,  took  from  his  pocket  the  lunch  his  mother 
had  prepared,  and  ate  it  hungrily  although  ab 
stractedly.  As  he  did  so,  he  felt  the  ani 
mal  joy  in  food  and  rest,  and  his  courage  and 
confidence  revived. 

"It  is  plain,"  he  said  to  himself,  "that  God  has 
sent  me  here  to  try  my  faith.  All  he  requires  is 
obedience!  It  is  not  necessary  that  I  should  un 
derstand;  but  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  obey!" 

The  idea  of  a  probation  so  unique  was  not  dis 
tasteful  to  his  romantic  nature,  and  he  therefore  at 
once  addressed  himself  to  the  business  upon  which 
he  had  come.  He  had  been  sent  to  preach,  and 
preach  he  would.  Drawing  from  the  inner  pocket 
of  his  coat  a  well-worn  Bible,  he  turned  to  the  four 
teenth  chapter  of  the  Gospel  of  Saint  John,  rose  to 
his  feet  and  began  to  read.  It  was  strange  to  be 
reading  to  this  emptiness  and  silence,  but  after  a 
moment  he  adjusted  himself  to  the  situation.  The 
earnest  effort  he  was  making  to  control  his 
mind  achieved  at  least  a  partial  success.  His  face 
brightened,  he  conjured  up  before  his  imagination 
the  forms  and  faces  of  the  absent  men.  He  saw 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  67 

them  with  the  eye  of  his  mind.  His  voice  grew  firm 
and  clear,  and  its  tones  reassured  him. 

Having  finished  the  lesson,  he  closed  the  volume 
and  began  to  pray.  Now  that  his  eyes  were  shut, 
the  strangeness  of  the  situation  vanished  entirely. 
He  was  no  longer  alone,  for  God  was  with  him.  The 
petition  was  full  of  devotion,  tenderness  and  faith, 
and  as  he  poured  it  forth  his  countenance  beamed 
like  that  of  an  angel.  When  it  was  finished  he 
began  the  sermon.  The  first  few  words  were 
scarcely  audible.  The  thoughts  were  disconnected 
and  fragmentary.  He  suffered  an  unfamiliar  and 
painful  embarrassment,  but  struggled  on,  and  his 
thoughts  cleared  themselves  like  a  brook  by  flow 
ing.  Each  effort  resulted  in  a  greater  facility  of 
utterance,  and  soon  the  joy  of  triumph  began  to  in 
spire  him.  The  old  confidence  returned  at  last  and 
his  soul,  filled  with  faith  and  hope  and  fervor,  poured 
itself  forth  in  a  full  torrent.  He  began  to  be  awed 
by  the  conjecture  that  his  errand  had  some  extraor 
dinary  although  hidden  import.  Who  could  tell 
what  mission  these  words  were  to  accomplish  in  the 
plans  of  God?  He  remembered  that  the  waves 
made  by  the  smallest  pebble  flung  into  the  ocean 
widen  and  widen  until  they  touch  the  farthest  shore, 
and  he  flung  the  pebbles  of  his  speech  into  the  great 
ocean  of  thought,  transported  by  the  hope  of  some 
time  learning  that  their  waves  had  beat  upon  the 
shores  of  a  distant  universe. 

Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  this  tumultuous  rush 
of  speech,  he  heard,  or  thought  he  heard,  a  sound. 


68     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

It  seemed  to  him  like  a  sob  and  there  followed 
stumbling  footsteps  as  of  some  one  in  hurried  flight, 
but  he  was  too  absorbed  to  be  more  than  dimly 
conscious  of  anything  save  his  own  emotions. 

And  yet,  slight  as  was  this  interruption,  it  served 
to  agitate  his  mind  and  bring  him  down  from  the 
realms  of  imagination  to  the  world  of  reality. 
His  thoughts  began  to  flow  less  easily  and  his 
tongue  occasionally  to  stammer;  the  strangeness 
of  his  experience  came  back  upon  him  with  re 
doubled  force;  the  chill  influence  of  vacancy  and 
emptiness  oppressed  him;  his  enthusiasm  waned; 
what  he  was  doing  began  to  seem  foolish  and  even 
silly. 

Just  at  that  critical  moment  there  occurred 
one  of  those  trifling  incidents  which  so  often 
produce  results  ridiculously  disproportionate  to 
their  apparent  importance.  Through  the  open  door 
to  which  his  back  was  turned,  a  little  snake  had 
made  its  way  into  the  room,  and  having  writhed 
silently  across  the  floor,  coiled  itself  upon  the 
hearth-stone,  faced  the  speaker,  looked  solemnly  at 
him  with  its  beady  eyes,  and  occasionally  thrust  out 
its  forked  tongue  as  if  in  relish  of  his  words. 

That  fixed  and  inscrutable  gaze  completed  the 
confusion  of  the  orator.  He  suddenly  ceased  to 
speak,  and  stood  staring  at  the  serpent.  His  face 
became  impassive  and  expressionless;  the  pupils 
of  his  eyes  dilated;  his  lips  remained  apart;  the 
last  word  seemed  frozen  on  his  tongue.  Not  a  shade 
of  thought  could  be  traced  on  his  countenance  and 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  69 

yet  he  must  have  been  thinking,  for  he  suddenly 
collapsed,  sank  down  on  a  rude  bench  and  rested 
his  head  on  his  hands  as  if  he  had  come  to  some 
disagreeable,  and  perhaps  terrible  conclusion.  And 
so  indeed  he  had.  The  uneasy  suspicions  which  had 
been  floating  in  his  mind  in  a  state  of  solution  were 
suddenly  crystallized  by  this  untoward  event.  The 
absurdity  of  a  man's  having  tramped  twenty  miles 
through  an  almost  unbroken  wilderness  to  preach 
the  gospel  to  a  garter  snake,  burst  upon  him  with 
a  crushing  force.  This  grotesque  denouement  of 
an  undertaking  planned  and  executed  in  the  loftiest 
frame  of  religious  enthusiasm,  shook  the  very  foun 
dation  of  his  faith. 

"It  is  absurd,  it  is  impossible,  that  an  infinite 
Spirit  of  love  and  wisdom  could  have  planned  this 
repulsive  adventure  !  I  have  been  misled  !  I  am  the 
victim  of  a  delusion !"  he  said  to  himself,  in  shame 
and  bitterness. 

To  him,  Christianity  had  been  not  so  much  a 
system  of  doctrines  based  upon  historical  proofs, 
as  emotions  springing  from  his  own  heart.  He 
believed  in  another  world  not  because  its  existence 
had  been  testified  to  by  others,  but  because  he  daily 
and  hourly  entered  its  sacred  precincts.  He  had 
faith  in  God,  not  because  He  had  spoken  to  apostles 
and  prophets,  but  because  He  had  spoken  to  David 
Corson.  Having  received  direct  communication 
from  the  Divine  Spirit,  how  could  he  doubt  ?  What 
other  proof  could  he  need? 

Suddenly,  without  warning  and  without  prepara- 


/O     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

tion,  the  foundation  upon  which  he  had  erected  the 
superstructure  of  his  faith  crumbled  and  fell.  He 
had  been  deceived!  The  communications  were 
false!  They  had  originated  in  his  own  soul,  and 
were  not  really  the  voice  of  God. 

Through  this  suspicion,  as  through  a  suddenly- 
opened  door,  the  powers  of  hell  rushed  into  his  soul 
and  it  became  the  theater  of  a  desperate  battle  be 
tween  the  good  and  evil  elements  of  life.  Doubt 
grappled  with  faith;  self-gratification  with  self-re 
straint  ;  despair  with  hope ;  lust  with  purity ;  body 
with  soul. 

He  heard  again  the  mocking  laughter  of  the 
quack,  and  the  stinging  words  of  his  cynical  philo 
sophy  once  more  rang  in  his  ears.  What  this  coarse 
wretch  had  said  was  true,  then !  Religion  was  a 
delusion,  and  he  had  been  spending  the  best  portion 
of  his  life  in  hugging  it  to  his  bosom.  Much  of  his 
youth  had  already  passed  and  he  had  not  as  yet 
tasted  the  only  substantial  joys  of  existence, — 
money,  pleasure,  ambition,  love!  He  felt  that  he 
had  been  deceived  and  defrauded. 

A  contempt  for  his  old  life  and  its  surroundings 
crept  upon  him.  He  began  to  despise  the  simple 
country  people  among  whom  he  had  grown  up, 
and  those  provincial  ideas  which  they  cherished  in 
the  little,  unknown  nook  of  the  world  where  they 
stagnated. 

During  a  long  time  he  permitted  himself  to  be 
borne  upon  the  current  of  these  thoughts  without 
trying  to  stem  it,  till  it  seemed  as  if  he  would  be 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  ?l 

swept  completely  from  his  moorings.  But  his 
trust  had  been  firmly  anchored,  and  did  not  easily 
let  go  its  hold.  The  convictions  of  a  lifetime  began 
to  reassert  themselves.  They  rose  and  struggled 
heroically  for  the  possession  of  his  spirit. 

Had  the  battle  been  with  the  simple  abstraction 
of  philosophic  doubt,  the  good  might  have  pre 
vailed,  but  there  obtruded  itself  into  the  field  the 
concrete  form  of  the  gypsy.  The  glance  of  her  lus 
trous  eye,  the  gleam  of  her  milk-white  teeth,  the 
heaving  of  her  agitated  bosom,  the  inscrutable  but 
suggestive  expression  of  her  flushed  and  eager 
face,  these  were  foes  against  which  he  struggled 
in  vain.  A  feverish  desire,  whose  true  signifi 
cance  he  did  not  altogether  understand,  tugged 
at  his  heart,  and  he  felt  himself  drawn  by  unseen 
hands  toward  this  mysterious  and  beautiful  being. 
She  seemed  to  him  at  that  awful  moment,  when  his 
whole  world  of  thought  and  feeling  was  slipping 
from  under  his  feet,  the  one  only  abiding  reality. 
She  at  least  was  not  an  impalpable  vision,  but  solid, 
substantial,  palpitating  flesh  and  blood.  Like  con 
tinuously  advancing  waves  which  sooner  or  later 
must  undermine  a  dyke,  the  passions  and  suspicions 
of  his  newly  awakened  nature  were  sapping  the 
foundations  of  his  belief. 

At  intervals  he  gained  a  little  courage  to  with 
stand  them,  and  at  such  moments  tried  to  pray ;  but 
the  effort  was  futile,  for  neither  would  the  accus 
tomed  syllables  of  petition  spring  to  his  lips,  nor  the 
feelings  of  faith  and  devotion  arise  within  his  heart. 


72     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

He  strove  to  convince  himself  that  this  experience 
was  a  trial  of  his  faith,  and  that  if  he  stood  out  a 
little  longer,  his  doubt  would  pass  away.  He  lifted 
his  head  and  glanced  at  the  serpent  still  coiled 
upon  the  hearth.  Its  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him  in 
a  gorgon-like  stare,  and  his  doubts  became  positive 
certainties,  as  disgust  became  loathing.  The  bat 
tle  had  ended.  The  mystic  had  been  defeated.  This 
sudden  collapse  had  come  because  the  foundations 
of  his  faith  had  been  honeycombed.  The  innocent 
serpent  had  been,  not  the  cause,  but  the  occasion. 

Influences  had  been  at  work,  of  which  the  Quaker 
had  remained  unconscious.  He  had  been  observing, 
without  reflecting  upon,  many  facts  in  the  lives  of 
other  men,  experiences  in  his  own  heart,  and  appar 
ent  inconsistencies  in  the  Bible.  There  was  also  a 
virus  whose  existence  he  did  not  suspect  running  in 
his  very  blood !  And  now  on  top  of  the  rest  came 
the  bold  skepticism  of  the  quack,  and  the  bewilder 
ing  beauty  of  the  gypsy. 

/    Yes,  the  preliminary  work  had  been  done !    We 

/  never  know  how  rotten  the  tree  is  until  it  falls,  nor 

how  unstable  the  wall  until  it  crumbles.    And  so  in 

\  the  moral  natures  of  men,  subtle  forces  eat  their 

\vay  silently  and  imperceptibly  to  the  very  center. 

A  summer  breeze  overthrows  the  tree,  the  foot 
of  a  child  sets  the  wall  tottering ;  a  whisper,  a  smile, 
even  the  sight  of  a  serpent,  is  the  jar  that  upsets 
the  equilibrium  of  a  soul. 

The  Quaker  rose  from  his  seat  in  a  fever  of  ex 
citement.  He  seized  the  Bible  lying  open  on  the 


THE  TRAIL  OF  THE  SERPENT  73 

table,  hurled  it  frantically  at  the  snake  and  flung 
himself  out  of  the  open  door  into  the  sunshine.  A 
wild  consciousness  of  liberty  surged  over  him. 

"I  am  free/'  he  exclaimed  aloud.  "I  have  eman 
cipated  myself  from  superstition.  I  am  going 
forth  into  the  world  to  assert  myself,  to  gratify  my 
natural  appetites,  to  satisfy  my  normal  desires.  It 
was  for  this  that  life  was  given.  I  have  too  long 
believed  that  duty  consisted  in  conquering  nature. 
I  now  see  that  it  lies  in  asserting  it.  I  have  too 
long  denied  myself.  I  will  hereafter  be  myself. 
That  man  was  right — there  is  no  law  above  the 
human  will." 


CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  CHANCE  WORD 

"A  man  reforms  his  habits  altogether  or  not  at  all." 

—Bacon. 

David  was  not  mistaken  in  his  vague  impression 
that  he  had  heard  a  sob  and  footsteps  outside  the 
cabin  door. 

The  little  band  of  lumbermen  abandoning  their 
camp  in  the  early  light  of  the  morning  for  another 
clearing  still  farther  in  the  wilderness,  had  already 
covered  several  miles  of  their  journey  when  their 
leader  suddenly  discovered  that  he  had  forgotten 
his  axe,  and  with  a  wild  volley  of  oaths  turned 
back  to  get  it. 

Even  in  that  region,  where  new  types  of  men 
sprang  up  like  new  varieties  of  plants  after  a  fire 
has  swept  over  a  clearing,  there  was  not  to  be 
found  a  more  unique  and  striking  personality  than 
Andy  McFarlane.  In  physique  he  was  of  gigantic 
proportions,  his  hair  and  beard  as  red  as  fire,  his 
voice  loud  and  deep,  his  eyes  blue  and  piercing. 
Clad  in  the  gay-colored  woolen  shirt,  the  rough 
fur  cap,  and  the  high-topped  boots  of  a  lumberman, 
his  appearance  was  bold  and  picturesque  to  the  last 
degree. 

Nor  were  his  mental  powers  inferior  to  his  phy 
sical.  Although  unable  to  read  or  write,  he  could 
both  reason  and  command.  His  keen  perceptions, 

74 


THE  CHANCE  WORD  75 

his  ready  wit,  his  forcible  logic  and  his  invincible 
will  had  made  him  a  leader  among  men  and  the 
idol  of  the  rude  people  among  whom  he  passed 
his  days. 

Repelled  and  disgusted  with  those  manifestations 
of  the  religious  life  with  which  alone  he  was  familiar, 
he  was  still  an  unconscious  worshiper.  The  woods, 
the  hills,  the  rivers  and  the  stars  awoke  within  him 
a  response  to  the  beautiful,  the  sublime  and  awe- 
inspiring  in  the  natural  universe. 

But  because  of  ignorance,  the  mysteries  of  ex 
istence  which  ought  to  have  made  him  devout  had 
only  rendered  him  superstitious,  though,  all  un 
known  to  himself,  his  bosom  was  full  of  inflammable 
materials  of  a  deeply  religious  life.  A  spark  fell  upon 
them  that  Sunday  morning  and  kindled  them  into 
a  conflagration.  Nothing  else  can  so  enrage  a  na-  SF 
ture  like  his  as  having  to  retrace  its  steps.  He  / 
could  have  walked  a  hundred  miles  straight  forward 
without  a  feeling  of  fatigue  or  a  sense  of  hardship ; 
but  every  backward  step  of  his  journey  had  put  him 
more  out  of  temper.  He  reached  the  clearing  in  a 
towering  passion  and  was  bewildered  at  hearing  in 
what  he  supposed  to  be  a  deserted  room,  the  sound 
of  a  human  voice  in  whose  tones  there  was  a  pecu 
liar  quality  which  aroused  his  interest  and  perhaps 
excited  his  superstition.  He  crept  toward  the 
rude  cabin  on  his  tiptoes,  paused  and  listened.  What 
he  heard  was  the  voice  of  the  young  mystic,  pour 
ing  out  his  heart  in  prayer. 

For  the  first   time   in   his   life   McFarlane  gave 


76     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

serious  attention  to  a  petition  addressed  to  the 
Supreme  Being.  Other  prayers  had  disgusted  him 
because  of  their  vulgar  familiarity  with  the  Deity, 
or  repelled  him  by  their  hypocrisy ;  but  there  was 
something  so  sincere  and  simple  in  the  childlike 
words  which  issued  from  the  cabin  as  to  quicken 
his  soul  and  turn  his  thoughts  upon  the  mysteries 
of  existence.  He  had  received  the  gift  of  life  as  do 
the  eagles  and  the  lions — without  surprise.  Had 
any  one  asked  him:  "Andy  McFarlane,  what  is 
life?"  he  would  have  answered:  "Life?  Why  it 
is  just  life." 

But  suddenly  a  voice,  heard  in  the  quiet  of  a 
wilderness,  a  voice  full  of  tenderness  and  pathos, 
issuing  from  unknown  and  invisible  lips  and 
ascending  into  the  vast  and  illimitable  spaces  of 
air,  threw  wide  open  the  gates  of  mystery.  His 
heart  was  instantly  emptied  of  its  passions ;  his  soul 
grew  calm  and  his  whole  nature  became  as  impres 
sionable  as  wax. 

When  at  length  the  prayer  had  ended  and  the 
sermon  began,  every  power  of  his  mind  was  strained 
to  its  utmost  capacity,  and  he  listened  as  if  for  life. 
The  buried  germs  of  desires  and  aspirations  of 
which  he  had  never  dreamed  were  quickened  into 
life  with  the  rapidity  of  the  outburst  of  vegetation 
in  a  polar  summer.  Words  and  phrases  which  had 
hitherto  seemed  to  him  the  utterances  of  fools  or 
madmen,  became  instinct  with  a  marvelous  beauty 
and  a  wondrous  meaning.  They  flashed  like  balls 
of  fire.  They  pierced  like  swords.  They  aroused 


THE  CHANCE  WORD  77 

like  trumpets.  Such  was  the  susceptibility  of  this 
great  soul,  and  such  was  the  power  of  that  simple 
eloquence. 

Andy  McFarlane,  the  child  of  poverty,  the  rude 
lumberman,  the  hardy  frontiersman,  was  by  nature 
a  poet  and  a  seer,  and  this  was  his  new  birth  into 
his  true  inheritance.  Those  eyes  which  had  never 
wept,  swam  in  tears.  Those  knees  which  had  never 
trembled  before  the  visible,  shook  in  the  presence 
of  the  unseen. 

'  The  emotions  have  their  limitations  as  well  as  the 
thoughts,  and  McFarlane  had  endured  all  that  he 
was  capable  of  sustaining.  With  a  profound  sob, 
in  which  he  uttered  the  feelings  he  could  not  speak, 
he  turned  and  fled.  It  was  this  sob  and  these  foot 
steps  which  David  heard. 

Plunging  into  the  depths  of  the  forest  as  a  wound 
ed  animal  would  have  done,  he  cast  himself  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  earth  at  the  foot  of  a  great  tree, 
to  find  solitude  and  consolation. 

There  are  wounds  in  the  soul    too  deep  to  be^w 
healed  by  the  balm  which  exudes  from  the  visible 
elements  of  Nature.    There  are  longings  and  aspi 
rations  which  the  palpable  and  audible  cannot  sat 
isfy.    Not  what  he  sees  and  touches,  but  what  he 
hopes  and  trusts,  can  save  man  in  these  dark  mo-       * 
ments  from  the  final  despair  and  terror  of  existence.    / 

Upon  such  an  hour  as  this  the  lumberman  had-f 
fallen.    God  had  thrust  Himself  upon  his  attention. 
Instead  of  being  compelled  to  seek  a  religious  ex 
perience,  he  found  it  impossible  to  escape  it. 


78     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  religious  experiences  of  men  in  any  such 
epoch  possess  a  certain  general  similarity.  Some 
times  thought,  sometimes  action  and  sometimes 
emotion  furnish  the  all-pervasive  element.  What 
ever  this  peculiar  characteristic  may  be,  its  man 
ifestations  are  always  most  vivid  and  violent  in 
ignorant  periods,  and  along  the  uncultivated 
frontiers  of  advancing  civilization.  In  those  rude 
days  and  regions,  the  victims  (if  one  might 
say  so)  of  religion  experienced  nervous  excita 
tions  and  emotional  transports  which  not  infre 
quently  terminated  in  convulsions.  Days  and 
nights,  weeks  and  even  months,  were  often  spent  by 
them  in  struggles  which  were  always  painful  and 
often  terrible. 

Andy  McFarlane  had  often  enough  witnessed 
and  despised  these  experiences ;  but  through  those 
almost  inexorable  laws  of  association  and  imitation, 
they  were  more  than  likely  to  reproduce  themselves 
in  him.  And  so  indeed  they  did.  Under  the 
influence  of  these  new  thoughts  that  had  seized 
him  with  such  power,  he  writhed  in  agony  on 
the  ground.  A  profound  "conviction  of  sin" 
took  possession  of  his  soul  and  he  felt  himself  to 
be  hopelessly  and  forever  lost.  That  hell  at  which 
he  had  so  often  scoffed  suddenly  opened  its  jaws 
beneath  his  feet,  and  although  he  shuddered  at  the 
thought  of  being  engulfed  in  its  horrors,  he  felt 
that  such  a  doom  would  be  the  just  desert  of  a  life 
like  his. 

Hours   passed   in   which  his   calmest  thoughts 


THE  CHANCE  WORD  79 

were  those  of  complete  bewilderment  and  helpless 
ness,  and  in  which  he  seemed  to  himself  to  be  float 
ing  upon  a  wide  and  shoreless  sea,  or  wandering  in 
a  pathless  wilderness  or  winging  his  way  like  a 
lost  bird  through  the  trackless  heavens.  However 
large  an  element  of  unreality  and  absurdity  there 
may  have  been  in  such  experiences,  it  is  certain 
that  changes  of  the  most  startling  and  perma 
nent  character  were  often  wrought  in  the  natures 
of  those  who  passed  through  them,  and  when 
McFarlane  at  last  emerged  from  this  spiritual 
excitement  he  was  a  strangely  altered  man.  He 
seemed  to  find  himself  in  another  and  more  beau 
tiful  world.  Looking  around  him  with  a  childlike 
wonder,  he  rose  and  made  his  way  back  to  the 
cabin.  He  listened  at  the  door,  but  heard  no  sound. 
He  entered,  found  the  room  empty,  and  gave 
himself  up  to  rude  and  unscientific  speculation  as 
to  the  nature  of  this  mysterious  adventure.  Noth 
ing  helped  to  solve  the  problem,  until  at  last  he 
discovered  the  Bible,  which  the  Quaker  had  hurled 
at  the  snake,  lying  upon  the  hearthstone.  It  did 
not  explain  everything,  but  it  served  to  connect  the 
inexplicable  with  the  real  and  human,  and  he  carried 
the  book  with  him  when  he  returned  to  his  com 
panions  writh  his  recovered  axe. 

That  Bible  became  a  "lamp  to  his  feet  and  a  light 
to  his  path."  By  patient  labor  he  learned  to  read 
it,  and  soon  grew  to  be  so  familiar  with  its  contents, 
that  he  was  able  not  only  to  communicate  its 
matter  to  others,  in  the  new  and  beautiful  life 


8o     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

which  he  began  to  live,  but  to  give  it  new  power 
for  those  men  in  the  plain  and  homely  language 
of  which  he  had  always  been  a  master. 

The  lion  had  become  a  lamb,  the  eagle  a  dove. 
He  moved  among  his  men,  the  incarnation  of  gen 
tleness  and  truth.  Under  his  powerful  influence 
the  camp  passed  through  a  marvelous  transforma 
tion.  From  this  limited  sphere  of  influence,  his 
fame  began  to  extend  into  a  larger  region.  He  was 
sent  for  from  far  and  near  to  tell  the  story  of  his 
strange  conversion,  and  in  time  abandoned  all  other 
labor  and  gave  himself  entirely  to  the  preaching 
of  the  Gospel. 

It  was  as  if  the  spirit  of  love  and  faith  which 
had  departed  from  the  Quaker  had  entered  into  the 
lumberman. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
A  BROKEN  REED 

"Superstition  is  a  senseless  fear  of  God." 

—Cicero, 

The  address  of  the  young  Quaker  in  the  meeting 
house  and  the  interview  with  him  by  the  roadside 
had  opened  a  new  epoch  in  the  life  of  the  Fortune 
Teller. 

Her  idea  of  the  world  was  a  chaos  of  crude  and 
irrational  conceptions.  The  superstitions  of  the 
gypsies  by  whom  she  had  been  reared  were  con 
fusedly  blended  with  those  practical  but  vicious 
maxims  which  governed  the  conduct  of  her  hus 
band. 

For  her,  the  world  of  law,  of  order,  of  truth,  of 
justice  had  no  existence.  The  quack  cared  little 
what  she  thought,  and  had  neither  the  ability  nor 
the  interest  to  penetrate  to  the  secrets  of  her  soul. 

She  had  lived  the  dream  life  of  an  ignorant  child 
up  to  the  moment  when  David  had  awakened  her 
soul,  and  now  that  she  really  began  to  grapple  with 
the  problems  of  existence,  she  had  neither  com 
panion  nor  teacher  to  help  her. 

The  two  objects  about  which  her  thoughts  had 
begun  to  hover  helplessly  were  the  God  of  whom 
David  had  spoken  and  the  Quaker  himself.  Both 
of  them  had  profoundly  agitated  her  mind  and 
heart,  and  still  haunted  her  thoughts. 


82     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  C'ORSON 

During  all  of  Saturday  after  the  interview, 
through  the  evening  which  she  had  passed  in  her 
booth,  and  far  into  the  night,  she  had  revolved  in 
her  mind  the  words  she  had  heard,  and  attempted 
to  weave  these  two  mysterious  beings  into  her  con 
fused  scheme  of  thought. 

Her  disappointment  at  David's  refusal  to  accom 
pany  them  in  their  wandering  life  had  been  bitter. 
She  did  not  comprehend  the  nature  of  her  feeling 
for  him;  but  his  presence  gave  her  so  exquisite 
a  happiness  that  the  thought  of  never  seeing  him 
again  had  become  intolerable. 

For  the  first  time  she,  who  had  been  for  years, 
as  she  thought,  disclosing  the  future  to  other 
people,  was  seized  with  a  burning  curiosity  as 
to  her  own.  Up  to  this  crisis  of  her  experi 
ence  she  had  lived  in  the  present  moment;  but 
now  she  must  look  into  to-morrow  and  see  if 
the  Quaker  was  ever  to  cross  her  path  again.  For 
so  important,  so  delicate  and  so  difficult  a  discovery 
it  seemed  to  her  that  the  ordinary  instruments  of  her 
art  were  pitifully  inadequate.  The  playing  cards, 
the  lines  upon  her  hands,  the  leaves  in  her  tea  cup 
would  not  do.  She  would  resort  to  that  charm 
which  the  old  gypsy  had  given  her  at  parting,  and 
which  she  had  reserved  for  some  great  and  critical 
moment  of  life.  That  moment  had  arrived. 

As  she  enjoyed  the  most  perfect  freedom  in  all 
her  movements,  she  snatched  an  early  and  hurried 
breakfast  Sunday  morning,  told  her  husband  that 


A  BROKEN  REED  83 

she  was  going  to  the  woods  for  wild  flowers,  and 
set  forth  upon  an  errand  gregjiant  with  destiny. 

With  an  instinct  like  that  of  a,  wild  creature  she 
made  her  way  swiftly  towards  the  great  forest 
which  lay  at  a  little  distance  from  the  outskirts  of 
the  village. 

Her  ignorance,  her  inexperience,  her  sadness  and 
her  beauty  would  have  stirred  the  hardest  heart  to 
compassion.  Arrived  at  the  point  where  she  was 
to  confront  the  great  spiritual  problems  of  exist 
ence,  she  might  almost  as  well  have  been  the  first 
woman  who  had  ever  done  so,  for  she  knew  noth 
ing  of  the  experiences  of  others  who  had  encoun 
tered  them,  and  she  had  scarcely  heard  an  echo  of 
the  great  life-truths  which  seers  have  been  ages  in 
discovering.  She  had  to  sound  her  way  across  the 
perilous  sea  of  thought  without  any  other  chart 
than  the  faded  parchment  of  the  gypsy,  and  those 
few  incomprehensible  words  which  she  had  heard 
from  the  lips  of  the  young  Quaker. 

It  is  good  for  us  that  upon  this  vast  and  unknown 
sea  of  life,  God's  winds  and  waves  are  wiser  and 
stronger    than    the    pilots,    and    often    bring    our         ^ 
frail  crafts  into  havens  which  we  never  sought  I^-^ 
Perhaps  the  act  which  Pepeeta  was  about  to  per 
form  had  more  ethical  and  spiritual  value  than  the 
casual  observer  would  suppose,  because  of  the  per 
fect  sincerity  with  which  she  undertook  its  per 
formance.    No  priestess  ever  entered  an  oracle,  no 
vestal  virgin  a  temple,  nor  saint  a  shrine  with  more 


84     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

reverence  than  she  felt,  as  she  passed  into  the 
silence  of  this  primeval  forest. 

Neither  David  nor  Pepeeta  knew  anything  of 
each  other's  movements,  but  they  started  upon 
their  different  errands  at  almost  the  same  mo 
ment  and  were  pursuing  parallel  courses  with  only 
a  low  ridge  of  hills  between  them.  Each  was  fol 
lowing  the  brightest  light  that  had  shone  upon  the 
pathway  of  life.  Both  were  absorbed  with  the  high 
est  thoughts  of  which  they  were  capable.  As  invis 
ible  planets  deflect  the  stars  from  their  orbits,  these 
two  were  imperceptibly  diverting  each  other  from 
the  way  of  duty.  The  experiences  of  this  beautiful 
morning  were  to  color  the  lives  of  both  forever. 

As  soon  as  Pepeeta  had  escaped  from  the  imme 
diate  environments  of  the  village,  she  gave  herself 
wholly  to  the  task  of  gathering  those  ingredients 
which  were  to  constitute  the  mixture  she  planned  to 
offer  to  her  god.  She  first  secured  a  cricket,  a  lizard 
and  a  frog,  and  then  the  herbs  and  flowers  which 
were  to  be  mingled  with  them.  Thrusting  them 
all  into  a  little  kettle  which  swung  on  her  arm, 
she  surrendered  herself  to  the  silent  and  myste 
rious  influences  of  the  forest.  At  the  edge  of  the 
primeval  wilderness  a  solemn  hush  stole  over  her. 
She  entered  its  precincts  as  if  it  were  a  temple 
and  she  a  worshiper  with  a  votive  offering.  Thread 
ing  her  way  through  the  winding  aisles  of  the  great 
cathedral,  she  was  exalted  and  transported.  The 
fitful  fever  cooled  in  her  veins.  She  absorbed 
and  drew  into  her  own  spirit  the  calm  and  silence 


A  BROKEN  REED  85 

of  the  place,  and  she  was  in  turn  absorbed  and 
drawn  into  the  majestic  life  around  her.  The 
distinctively  human  seemed  to  slip  from  her  like  a 
garment,  and  she  was  transformed  into  a  creature 
of  these  solitudes.  Her  movements  resembled 
those  of  a  fawn.  Her  great,  gazelle-like  eyes 
peered  hither  and  thither,  as  if  ever  upon  the  watch 
for  some  hidden  foe.  It  was  as  if  her  life  in  the 
habitations  of  men  had  been  an  enforced  exile,  and 
she  had  now  returned  to  her  native  haunts. 

As  she  penetrated  more  and  more  deeply  into 
the  wood,  her  confidence  increased ;  she  stepped 
more  firmly,  removed  her  hat,  shook  out  her 
long  black  tresses,  listened  to  the  songs  of  birds 
piping  in  the  tops  of  trees,  and  exulted  in  the  con 
sciousness  of  freedom  and  of  kinship  with  these 
natural  objects.  With  a  sudden  and  impulsive 
movement,  she  drew  near  to  the  smooth  trunk  of  a 
great  beech,  put  her  arms  around  it,  laid  her  cheek 
against  it  and  kissed  the  bark.  She  was  prompted 
by  the  same  instinct  which  made  St.  Francis  de\ 
Assisi  call  the  flowers  "our  little  sisters, — "  an  in 
explicable  sense  of  companionship  and  fraternity  .*•• 
with  living  things  of  every  kind. 

Her  swift  footsteps  brought  her  at  last  to  the 
summit  of  a  low  line  of  hills,  and  she  glided  down 
into  an  unpeopled  and  shadow-haunted  valley 
through  which  ran  a  crystal  stream.  Perceiving 
the  fitness  of  the  place  for  her  purpose,  she  hastened 
forward  smiling,  and,  heated  with  her  journey, 
threw  herself  down  by  the  side  of  the  brook  and 


86     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

plunged  her  face  into  its  cool  and  sparkling  waters. 
Then  she  lifted  her  head  and  carried  the  water  to 
her  lips  in  the  palm  of  her  dainty  hand,  and  as  she 
drank  beheld  the  image  of  her  face  on  the  surface 
of  a  quiet  little  pool.  Small  wonder  that  she 
stooped  to  kiss  the  red  lips  which  were  mirrored 
there!  So  did  the  fair  Greek  maidens  discover  and 
pay  tribute  to  their  own  loveliness,  in  the  pure 
springs  of  Hellas. 

Refreshed  by  the  cooling  draught,  the  priestess 
now  addressed  herself  to  her  task.  Gazing  for  an 
instant  around  the  majestic  temple  in  which  her  act 
of  worship  was  to  be  performed,  she  began  like 
some  child  of  a  long  gone  age  to  rear  an  altar.  Se 
lecting  a  few  from  the  many  boulders  that  were 
strewn  along  the  edge  of  the  stream,  she  arranged 
them  so  as  to  make  an  elevated  platform  upon 
which  she  heaped  dry  leaves,  brushwood  and  dead 
branches.  Over  it  she  suspended  a  tripod  of  sticks, 
and  from  this  hung  her  iron  kettle.  Drawing  from 
her  pocket  flint  and  steel,  she  struck  them  together, 
dropped  a  spark  upon  a  piece  of  rotten  wood,  puffed 
cut  her  pretty  cheeks  and  blew  it  into  a  flame.  As 
the  fire  caught  in  the  dry  brushwood  and  began  to 
leap  heavenward,  she  followed  it  with  her  great 
brown  eyes  until  it  vanished  into  space.  Her  spirit 
thrilled  with  that  same  sense  of  awe  and  rever 
ence  which  filled  the  souls  of  primitive  men  when 
they  traced  the  course  of  the  darting  flames  toward 
the  sky.  In  the  presence  of  fire,  some  form  of  wor 
ship  is  inevitable.  Before  conflagrations  our  rev- 


A  BROKEN  REED  87 

cries  are  transformed  into  prayers.  The  silently 
ascending  tongues  of  flame  carry  us  involuntarily 
into  the  presence  of  the  Infinite. 

Filling  her  kettle  with  water  from  the  running 
brook,  she  stirred  into  it  the  herbs,  the  berries,  the 
lizard,  the  frog  and  the  cricket.  This  part  of  her 
work  completed,  she  sat  down  upon  a  bed  of  moss, 
drew  forth  the  sacred  parchment  and  read  its  con 
tents  again  and  again. 

"When  the  cauldron  steams,  dance  about  the  fire 
and  sing  this  song.  As  the  last  words  die  away 
Matizan  will  leap  from  the  flames  and  reveal  to  thee 
the  future." 

Credulous  child  that  she  was,  not  the  faintest 
shadow  of  a  doubt  floated  across  her  mind.  She 
thrust  the  parchment  back  into  her  bosom,  and  as 
the  water  began  to  bubble,  leaped  to  her  feet,  threw 
her  arms  above  her  head,  sprang  into  the  air,  and 
went  whirling  away  in  graceful  curves  and  bac- 
chantean  dances. 

There  were  in  these  movements,  as  in  every 
dance,  mysterious  and  perhaps  incomprehensible 
elements. 

Who  can  tell  whether  they  have  their  origin  in 
the  will  of  the  dancer  alone,  or  in  some  outside 
force?  The  daisies  in  the  meadow  and  the  waves 
of  the  sea  dance  because  they  are  agitated  by 
the  wind.  The  little  cork  automaton  upon  the 
sounding  board  of  a  piano  dances  because  it  is 
agitated  by  the  vibrations  of  the  strings.  The  little 


88     THF  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

children  in  the  alleys  of  a  great  city  seem  to  1  e 
agitated  in  the  same  way  by  the  hurdy-gurdy! 

Perhaps  the  rhythmic  beating  of  the  feet  upon  the 
ground  surcharges  the  body  with  electrical  force, 
as  by  the  touch  of  a  magnet.  There  is  a  mystery 
in  the  simplest  phenomena  of  life. 

Pepeeta,  dancing  upon  the  green  moss  beneath 
the  great  beech  trees,  seemed  to  be  in  the  hands 
of  some  external  power,  and  could  scarcely  have 
been  distinguished  from  an  automaton!  She  had 
brought  her  tambourine,  and  holding  it  on  high 
with  her  left  hand  or  extending  it  far  forward,  she 
tapped  it  with  her  fingers  or  her  knuckles,  until  all 
its  brazen  disks  tingled  and  its  little  bells  gave  out 
a  sweet  and  silvery  tintinnabulation. 

The  dancer's  movements  were  alternately  sin 
uous,  undulatory  and  gliding.  At  one  moment 
her  supple  form,  bending  humbly  toward  the  earth, 
resembled  the  stem  of  a  lily  over-weighted  with  its 
blossom;  the  next,  a  branch  of  a  tree  flung  upward 
by  a  tempest;  the  next,  a  column  of  autumn  leaves 
caught  up  by  a  miniature  whirlwind  and  sent  spin 
ning  along  a  winding  path. 

Her  eyes  glowed,  her  cheeks  burned  and  her 
bosom  heaved  with  excitement.  She  seemed  either 
to  have  caught  from  nature  her  own  mood,  or  else 
to  hnve  communicated  hers  to  it,  for  while  she 
danced  all  else  danced  with  her,  the  water  in  the 
brook,  the  squirrels  in  the  tree-tops,  the  shadows 
on  the  moss,  and  the  leaves  on  the  branches. 

Following  the  directions  of  the  parchment,  she 


A  BROKEN  REED  89 

continued  to  spin  and  flutter  around  the  fire  until 
the  water  in  the  kettle  began  to  boil.  At  the  first 
ebullitions,  she  stood  poised  for  an  instant  upon 
her  toe,  like  the  famous  statue  of  Mercury,  and  so 
lightly  that  she  seemed  to  be  sustained  by  undis- 
coverable  wings,  or  to  float,  like  a  bubble,  of  her 
own  buoyancy. 

Settling  down  at  length  as  if  she  were  a  humming 
bird  lighting  upon  a  flower,  she  began  to  circle 
slowly  around  the  fire  and  sing.  The  melody  was 
in  a  minor  key  and  full  of  weird  pathos.  The  words 
were  these : 

"God  of  the  gypsy  camp,  Matizan,  Matizan, 

Open  the  future  to  me — 
Me  thy  true  worshiper,  here  in  this  solitude, 
Offering  this  incense  to  thee. 

"Matizan,  Matizan,  God  of  the  future  days, 

Come,  in  the  smoke  and  the  fire; 
Kaffaran,  Kaffaran,  Muzsubar,  Zanzarbee; 
Bundemar,  Omadar,  Zire." 

As  the  last  syllable  fell  from  her  lips,  the  loath 
some  decoction  boiled  over,  and  the  singer,  pausing 
as  if  suddenly  turned  to  marble,  stood  in  statuesque 
beauty,  her  arms  extended,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes 
fixed.  Expectancy  gave  place  to  surprise,  surprise 
to  disappointment,  disappointment  to  despair. 

The  lips  began  to  quiver,  the  eyes  to  fill  with 
tears;  her  girlish  figure  suddenly  collapsed  and 
sank  upon  the  ground  as  the  sail  of  a  vessel  falls 
to  the  deck  when  a  sudden  blast  of  wind  has 
snapped  its  cordage. 

While  the  broken-hearted  and  disillusioned  priest- 


90     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

ess  lay  prostrate  there,  the  fire  spluttered,  the  birds 
sang  cheerfully  in  the  treetops,  and  the  brook 
murmured  to  the  grasses  at  its  marge.  No  un 
earthly  voice  disturbed  the  tranquillity  of  the  forest, 
and  no  unearthly  presence  appeared  upon  the  scene. 
The  great  world  spirit  paid  no  more  attention  to 
the  prone  and  weeping  woman  than  to  the  motes 
that  were  swimming  gaily  in  the  sunbeams. 

As  for  her,,  poor  child,  her  life  faith  had  been 
dissipated  in  a  single  instant,  and  the  whole  fabric 
of  her  thought-world  demolished  in  a  single  crash. 

What  had  happened  to  the  Quaker  in  the  lumber 
camp,  had  befallen  the  gypsy  in  the  forest.  But 
while  in  his  case  the  disappearance  of  faith  had  been 
followed  by  a  sudden  eruption  of  evil  passions,  in 
hers  a  vanished  superstition  had  given  place  to  a 
nascent  spiritual  life. 

The  seed  of  religious  truth  sown  by  his  hand  in 
the  fertile  soil  of  her  heart  already  struck  its  roots 
deep  down.  She  did  not  in  any  full  degree  com 
prehend  his  words;  but  that  reiterated  statement 
that  "there  is  a  light  which  lighteth  every  man  that 
cometh  into  the  world"  had  made  an  indelible  im 
pression  upon  her  mind  and  was  destined  to  ac 
complish  great  results. 

As  she  lay  crushed  and  desolate  in  her  disillu 
sionment,  her  mind  began  of  its  own  accord  sud 
denly  to  feed  upon  this  new  hope.  She  could  not 
be  said  to  have  been  reasoning,  as  David  was  doing 
in  the  cabin.  Her  nature  was  emotional  rather  than 
intellectual,  or  at  least  her  powers  of  reason 


A  BROKEN  REED  91 

had  never  been  developed.  She  could  not  therefore 
think  her  way  through  these  pathless  regions  over 
which  she  was  now  compelled  to  pass;  she  could 
only  feel  her  way.  The  thoughts  which  began 
to  course  through  her  mind  did  not  originate  in 
any  efforts  of  the  will,  but  issued  spontaneously 
from  the  depths  of  her  soul,  and  as  they  arose 
without  volition,  so  did  they  flow  on  until  they 
finally  became  as  pure  and  clear  as  the  waters  of 
the  brook  by  whose  banks  she  lay. 

When  her  emotions  had  expended  their  force 
and  she  arose,  an  experience  befell  her  which  re 
vealed  the  immaturity  of  her  mind. 

The  idea  of  that  "inner  light"  had  taken  complete 
possession  of  her  soul,  and  so  when  she  suddenly 
perceived  a  long  bright  path  of  gold  which  a  beam 
of  the  setting  sun  had  thrown  along  the  floor  of  the 
forest,  like  a  shining  track  in  the  direction  of  the 
village,  she  thought  it  had  emerged  from  the  depths 
of  her  own  spirit. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation  she  entered  this 
golden  highway  and  sped  along!  Not  for  another 
instant  did  she  regret  the  failure  of  the  gypsy  god 
to  meet  her.  She  knew  well  enough,  now,  the  way 
to  find  her  path  amid  the  mysteries  of  life!  She 
had  but  to  follow  this  light! 

The  shining  pathway  led  her  to  the  summit  of 
the  hill;  and  as  she  began  to  descend  the  other 
slope,  it  vanished  with  the  sun.  But  she  was  not 
troubled,  for  she  saw  at  a  glance  that  the  brook  to 
whose  banks  she  was  coming  was  the  one  flowing 


92     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

through  the  farm  of  the  Quaker.  "Perhaps  I  shall 
see  him  again,"  she  said  to  herself,  and  the  hope 
made  her  tumultuously  happy. 

She  had  lost  all  consciousness  of  the  flight  of 
time,  and  now  noticed  with  surprise  that  it  was 
evening.  The  crows  were  winging  their  way  to 
their  nesting  ground ;  the  rabbits  were  seeking  their 
burrows ;  the  whole  animal  world  was  faring  home 
ward.  Some  universal  impulse  seemed  to  be  driv 
ing  them  along  their  predestined  paths,  as  it  drove 
the  brooks  and  the  clouds,  and  Pepeeta  appeared, 
as  much  as  they,  to  be  borne  onward  by  a  power 
above  herself.  She  was  but  little  more  conscious 
of  choosing  her  path  than  the  doe  who  at  a  little 
distance  was  hurrying  home  to  her  mate;  so  com 
pletely  were  all  her  volitional  powers  in  abeyance 
to  the  emotional  elements  of  her  soul. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WHERE  PATHS  CONVERGE 

"If  we  do  meet  again,  we'll  smile  indeed; 

If   not,   Us   true  this   parting   was   well   made." 

—Julius  Caesar. 

Violent  emotions,  like  the  lunar  tides,  must  have 
their  ebb  because  they  have  their  flow.  The  feelings 
do  not  so  much  advance  like  a  river,  as  oscillate 
•  like  a  pendulum. 

Striding  homeward  after  his  downfall  in  the  log 
cabin,  David's  determination  to  join  his  fortunes 
to  those  of  the  two  adventurers  began  to  wane.  He 
trembled  at  an  unknown  future  and  hesitated  before 
untried  paths. 

Already  the  strange  experience  through  which 
he  had  just  passed  began  to  seem  to  him  like  a  half- 
forgotten  dream.  The  refluent  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  of  his  religious  life  began  to  set  back  into  every 
bay  and  estuary  of  his  soul. 

With  a  sense  of  shame,  he  regretted  his  hasty 
decision,  and  was  saying  to  himself,  "I  will  arise  and 
go  to  my  Father,"  for  all  the  experiences  of  life 
clothed  themselves  at  once  in  the  familiar  language 
of  the  Scriptures. 

It  is  more  than  likely  that  he  would  have  carried 
out  this  resolution,  and  that  this  whole  experience 
would  have  become  a  mere  incident  in  his  life  his 
tory,  if  his  destiny  had  depended  upon  his  personal 


94     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

volition.  But  how  few  of  the  great  events  of  life 
are  brought  about  by  our  choice  alone ! 

Just  at  sunset,  he  crossed  the  bridge  over  the 
brook  which  formed  the  boundary  line  of  the  farm, 
and  as  he  did  so  heard  a  light  footstep.  Lifting 
his  eyes,  he  saw  Pepeeta,  who  at  that  very  instant 
stepped  out  of  the  low  bushes  which  lined  the  trail 
she  had  been  following. 

Her  appearance  was  as  sudden  as  an  apparition 
and  her  beauty  dazzled  him.  Her  face,  flushed 
with  exercise,  gleamed  against  the  background  of 
her  black  hair  with  a  sort  of  spiritual  radiance. 
When  she  saw  the  Quaker,  a  smile  of  unmistakable 
delight  flashed  upon  her  features  and  added  to  her 
bewitching  grace.  She  might  have  been  an  Oread 
or  a  Dryad  wandering  alone  through  the  great 
forest.  What  bliss  for  youth  and  beauty  to  meet 
thus  at  the  close  of  day  amid  the  solitudes  of 
Nature! 

Had  Nature  forgotten  herself,  to  permit  thesn 
two  young  and  impressionable  beings  to  enjoy  this 
pleasure  on  a  lonely  road  just  as  the  day  was  dying 
and  the  tense  energies  of  the  world  were  relaxed? 
There  are  times  when  her  indifference  to  her  own 
most  inviolable  laws  seems  anarchic.  There  are 
moments  when  she  appears  wantonly  to  lure  her 
children  to  destruction. 

They  gazed  into  each  other's  eyes,,  they  knew  not 
how  long,  with  an  incomprehensible  and  delicious 
joy,  and  then  looked  down  upon  the  ground.  Hav 
ing  regained  their  composure  by  this  act.  they  lifted 


WHERE  PATHS  CONVERGE  95 

their  eyes  and  regarded  each  other  with  frank  and 
friendly  smiles. 

"I  thought  thee  had  gone,"  said  David. 

"We  stayed  longer  than  we  expected,"  Pepeeta 
replied. 

"Has  thee  been  hunting  wild  flowers?"  he  asked, 
observing  the  bouquet  which  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"I  picked  them  on  the  way." 

"Has  thee  been  walking  far?" 

"I  have  not  thought." 

"It  is  easy  to  walk  in  these  spring  days." 

"I  must  have  found  it  so,  for  I  have  been  out 
since  sunrise,  and  am  not  tired." 

"Thee  does  love  the  woods?" 

"Oh,  so  much !  I  am  a  sort  of  wild  creature  and 
should  like  to  live  in  a  cave." 

"I  am  afraid  thee  would  always  turn  thy  face 
homeward  at  dusk,  as  thee  is  doing  now,"  he  said 
with  a  smile. 

"Oh,  no !    I  am  not  afraid !    I  go  because  I  must." 

"I  will  join  thee,  if  I  may.  The  same  path  will 
take  us  toward  our  different  destinations." 

"Oh,  I  shall  be  glad,  for  I  want  to  ask  you  many 
questions.  I  can  think  of  nothing  else  but  what  I 
heard  you  say  in  the  meeting  house." 

"I  fear  I  have  said  some  things  which  I  do  not 
understand  myself,"  he  replied,  with  a  flush,  re 
membering  the  experience  through  which  he  had 
just  passed. 

The  path  was  wide  enough  for  two,  and  side  by 
side  they  moved  slowly  forward. 


96     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  somber  garb  in  which  he  was  dressed,  and 
the  brilliant  colors  of  her  apparel,  afforded  a  con 
trast  like  that  between  a  pheasant  and  a  scarlet 
tanager.  Color,  form,  motion — all  were  perfect. 
They  fitted  into  the  scene  without  a  jar  or  discord, 
and  enhanced  rather  than  disturbed  the  harmony 
of  the  drowsy  landscape. 

As  they  walked  onward,  they  vaguely  felt  the 
influence  of  the  repose  that  was  stealing  upon  the 
tired  world;  the  intellectual  and  volitional  elements 
of  their  natures  becoming  gradually  quiescent, 
the  emotions  were  given  full  sway.  They  felt  them 
selves  drawn  toward  each  other  by  some  irre 
sistible  power,  and,  although  they  had  never 
before  been  conscious  of  any  incompleteness  of 
their  lives,  they  suddenly  discovered  affinities  of 
whose  existence  they  had  never  dreamed.  Their 
two  personalities  seemed  to  be  absorbed  into 
one  new  mysterious  and  indivisible  being, 
and  this  identity  gave  them  an  incomprehen 
sible  joy.  Over  them  as  they  walked,  Nature 
brooded,  sphynx-like.  Their  young  and  healthy 
natures  were  tuned  in  unison  with  the  harmonies 
of  the  world  like  perfect  instruments  from  which 
the  delicate  ringers  of  the  great  Musician  evoked  a 
melody  of  which  she  never  tired,  reserving  her  dis 
cords  for  a  future  day.  On  this  delicious  evening 
she  permitted  them  to  be  thrilled  through  and 
through  with  joy  and  hope  and  she  accompanied 
the  song  their  hearts  were  singing  with  her  own 
multitudinous  voices.  "Be  happy,"  chirped  the 


WHERE  PATHS  CONVERGE  97 

birds;  "be  happy,"  whispered  the  evening  breeze; 
"be  happy,"  murmured  the  brook,  running  along 
by  their  side  and  looking  up  into  their  faces  with 
laughter.  The  whole  world  seemed  to  resound 
with  the  refrain,  "Be  happy !  Be  happy !  for  you 
are  young,  are  young,  are  young!" 

Pepeeta  first  broke  the  silence. 

"I  had  never  heard  of  the  things  about  which  you 
talked,"  she  said. 

"Thee  never  had  ?  How  could  that  be  ?  I  thought 
that  every  one  knew  them !" 

"I  must  have  lived  in  a  different  world  from 
yours." 

"What  sort  of  a  world  has  thee  lived  in?" 

"A  world  of  fairs  and  circuses,  of  traveling  every 
where  and  never  stopping  anywhere." 

"Has  thee  never  been  in  a  church?" 

"Never  until  that  night." 

"And  thee  knows  nothing  of  God?" 

"Nothing  except  the  gypsy  god,  and  he  was  not 
like  yours." 

"And  thee  was  happy?" 

"I  thought  so  until  I  heard  what  you  said.  Since 
then  I  have  been  full  of  care  and  trouble.  I  wish  I 
knew  what  you  meant !  But  I  have  seen  that  won 
derful  light !" 

"Thee  has  seen  it?" 

"Yes,  to-day !  And  I  followed  it ;  I  shall  always 
follow  it." 

"When    does    thee    leave    the    village?"    David 


98     THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

asked,  fearing  the  conversation  would  lead  where 
he  did  not  want  to  go. 

"To-morrow,"  she  said. 

"Does  thee  think  that  the  doctor  would  renew 
his  offer  to  take  me  with  him  ?" 

"Do  I  think  so  ?    Oh  !  I  am  sure." 

"Then  I  will  go." 

"You  will  go  ?  Oh !  I  am  so  happy !  The  doctor 
was  very  angry;  he  has  not  been  himself  since. 
You  don't  know  how  glad  he  will  be." 

"But  will  not  thee  be  happy,  too?"  he  asked. 

"Happier  than  you  could  dream,"  she  answered 
with  all  the  frankness  of  a  child.  "But  what  made 
you  change  your  mind  ?" 

"I  will  tell  thee  sometime;  it  is  too  late  now. 
There  is  my  home  and  I  have  much  work  to  do 
before  dark." 

"Home !"  she  echoed.  "I  never  had  a  home,  or  at 
least  I  cannot  remember  it.  We  have  always  led  a 
roving  life,  here  to-day  and  gone  to-morrow.  It 
must  be  sweet  to  have  a  home !" 

"Thee  has  always  led  a  roving  life  and  wishes  to 
have  a  home  ?  I  have  always  had  a  home,  and  wish 
to  lead  a  roving  life,"  said  David. 

They  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  at  this 
curious  contradiction.  They  smiled  because  they 
were  not  yet  old  enough  to  weep  over  the  restless 
ness  of  the  human  heart. 

Having  reached  the  edge  of  the  woods,  where 
their  paths  separated,  they  paused. 

"We  must  part,"  said  David. 


WHERE  PATHS  CONVERGE  99 

"Yes ;  but  we  shall  meet  to-morrow." 

"We  shall  meet  to-morrow." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"I  am  sure." 

"You  will  not  change  your  mind?" 

"I  could  not  if  I  would." 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

At  the  touch  of  their  hands  their  young  hearts 
were  swayed  by  tender  and  tumultuous  feelings. 
A  too  strong  pressure  startled  them,  and  they  loos 
ened  their  grasp.  The  sun  sank  behind  the  hill. 
The  shadows  that  fell  upon  their  faces  awakened 
them  from  their  dreams.  Again  they  said  good 
bye  and  reluctantly  parted.  Once  they  stopped 
and,  turning,  waved  their  hands;  and  the  next 
moment  Pepeeta  entered  the  road  which  led  her 
out  of  sight. 

In  this  interview,  the  entire  past  of  these  two  lives 
seemed  to  count  for  nothing. 

If  Pepeeta  had  never  seen  anything  of  the  world ; 
if  she  had  issued  from  a  nunnery  at  that  very  mo 
ment,  she  could  not  have  acted  with  a  more  utter 
disregard  of  every  principle  of  safety.  % 

It  was  the  same  with  David.  The  fact  that  he 
had  been  reared  a  Quaker ;  that  he  had  been  ded 
icated  to  God  from  his  youth ;  that  he  had  struggled 
all  his  days  to  be  prepared  for  such  a  moment  as 
this,  did  not  affect  him  to  the  least  degree. 

The  seasoning  of  the  bow  does  not  invariably 
prevent  it  from  snapping.  The  drill  on  the  parade 


/      o 

Y 
\ 


100  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 


ground  does  not  always  insure  courage  for  the  bat 
tle.  Nothing  is  more  terrible  than  this  futility  of 
the  past. 

,  Such  scenes  as  this  discredit  the  value  of  experi 
ence,  and  attach  a  terrible  reality  to  the  conclusion 
of  Coleridge,  that  "it  is  like  the  stern-light  of  a  ves 
sel — illuminating  only  the  path  over  which  we  have 
raveled." 

Nor  did  the  future  possess  any  more  power  over 
their  destinies  than  the  past.  Not  a  conscious 
foreboding  disturbed  their  enjoyment  of  that  brief 
instant  which  alone  can  be  called  the  present. 

And  yet,  no  moment  in  their  after  lives  came  up 
more  frequently  for  review  than  this  one,  and  in 
the  light  of  subsequent  events  they  were  forced  to 
recognize  that  during  every  instant  of  this  scene 
there  was  an  uneasy  but  unacknowledged  sense  of 
danger  and  wrong  thrilling  through  all  those  emo 
tions  of  bliss. 

It  is  seldom  that  any  man  or  woman  enters  into 
the  region  of  danger  without  premonitions.  The 
delicate  instincts  of  the  soul  hoist  the  warning  sig 
nals,  but  the  wild  passions  disregard  them. 

It  was  to  this  moment  that  their  consciences 
traced  their  sorrows ;  it  was  to  that  act  of  their 
souls  which  permitted  them  to  enjoy  that  mo 
mentary  rapture  that  they  attached  their  guilt;  it 
was  at  that  moment  and  in  that  silent  place  that 
they  planted  the  seeds  of  the  trees  upon  which  they 
were  subsequently  crucified. 


CHAPTER  X. 
A   POISONED   SPRING 

"It  was  the  saying  of  a  great  man,  that  if  we  could  trace  our 
descents,  we  should  find  all  slaves  to  come  from  princes  and  all 
princes  from  slaves!"  —Seneca. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  two  adventurers 
took  their  departure. 

The  jovial  quack  lavished  his  good-byes  upon 
the  landlord  and  the  "riff-raff"  who  gathered  to  wel 
come  the  coming  or  speed  the  parting  guest  at  the 
door  of  the  country  tavern.  He  drove  a  pair  of 
beautiful,  spirited  horses,  and  had  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  he  excited  the  envy  of  every 
beholder,  as  he  took  the  ribbons  in  his  hand,  swung 
out  his  long  whip  and  started. 

If  her  husband's  heart  was  swelling  with  pride, 
Pepeeta's  was  bursting  with  anxiety.  An  instinct 
which  she  did  not  understand  had  prevented  her 
from  telling  the  doctor  of  her  interview  with  the 
Quaker.  Long  before  the  farmhouse  came  in  sight 
she  began  to  scan  the  landscape  for  the  figure  which 
had  been  so  vividly  impressed  upon  her  mind. 

The  swift  horses,  well  fed  and  well  groomed, 
whirled  the  light  wagon  along  the  road  at  a  rapid 
pace  and  as  they  passed  the  humble  home  of  the 
Quaker,  Pepeeta  saw  a  little  child  driving  the  cows 
down  the  long  lane,  and  a  woman  moving  quietly 
among  the  flowers  in  the  garden;  but  David  him 
self  was  not  to  be  seen. 

101 


102  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"He  has  gone/'  she  said  to  herself  joyously. 

On  through  the  beech  grove,  around  the  turn  of 
the  road,  into  full  view  of  the  bridge,  they  sped. 

It  was  empty !  And  yet  it  was  there  that  he  had 
agreed  to  meet  them ! 

A  tear  fell  from  her  eye,  and  her  chin  quivered. 
With  the  utmost  effort  of  her  will  she  could  not 
repress  these  evidences  of  her  disappointment,  and 
with  a  spasmodic  motion  she  clutched  the  arm  of 
the  driver  as  if  it  were  that  of  Destiny  and  she  could 
hold  it  back. 

So  sudden  and  so  powerful  was  the  grasp  of  her 
young  hand,  that  it  turned  the  horses  out  of  the  road 
and  all  but  upset  the  carriage. 

With  a  violent  jerk  of  the  reins,  the  astonished 
driver  pulled  them  back,  and  exclaimed  with  an 
oath : 

"You  little  wild  cat,  if  you  ever  d-d-do  that  again, 
I  will  throw  you  into  the  d-d-ditch!" 

"Excuse  me!"  she  answered  humbly,  cowering 
under  his  angry  glances. 

"What  in  the  d-d-deuce  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked 
more  kindly,  seeing  the  tears  in  her  eyes. 

"I  do  not  know.  I  am  nervous,  I  guess,"  she 
answered  sadly. 

"Nervous?  P-p-pepeeta  Aesculapius  nervous? 
I  thought  her  nerves  were  m-m-made  of  steel? 
What  is  the  m-m-matter?"  he  asked,  looking  at  her 
anxiously. 

His  gentleness  calmed  her,  and  she  answered : 
"I  am  sorry  to  leave  a  place  where  I  have  been  so 


A   POISONED   SPRING  103 

happy.  Oh !  why  cannot  we  settle  down  somewhere 
and  stay?  I  get  so  tired  of  being  always  on  the 
wing.  Even  the  birds  have  nests  to  rest  in  for  a 
little  while.  Are  we  never  going  to  have  a  home  ?" 

"Nonsense,  child!  What  do  we  want  with  a 
h-h-home?  It  is  better  to  be  always  on  the  go.  I 
want  my  liberty.  It  suits  me  best  to  fly  through 
the  heavens  like  a  hawk  or  swim  the  deep  sea  like 
a  shark.  A  home  would  be  a  p-p-prison.  I  should 
tramp  back  and  forth  in  it  like  a  polar  bear  in  a 
c-c-cage." 

Pepeeta  answered  with  a  sigh. 

"Cheer  up,  child,"  he  cried  in  his  hearty  fashion. 
"Your  voice  sounds  like  the  squeak  of  a  mouse! 
B-b-be  gay!  Be  happy!  How  can  you  be  sad  on 
a  morning  like  this?  Look  at  the  play  of  the 
muscles  under  the  smooth  skins  of  the  horses ! 
Remember  the  b-b-bright  shining  dollars  that  we 
coaxed  out  of  the  tightly  b-b-buttoned  breeches 
pockets  of  the  gray-backed  Q-Q-Quakers.  What 
more  do  you  ask  of  life?  What  else  can  it 
g-g-give  ?" 

"It  does  not  make  me  happy!  I  shall  never  be 
happy  until  I  have  a  home,"  she  said,  still  sobbing, 
and  trying  to  conceal  the  cause  of  her  grief  from 
herself  as  well  as  from  her  husband. 

Nothing  could  have  astonished  the  great,  well- 
fed  animal  by  her  side  more  than  this  confession. 
In  all  his  life  he  had  never  heaved  a  sigh.  His  con 
tentment  was  like  that  of  a  lion  in  a  forest  full  of 
antelopes.  But  if  he  was  fierce  and  cruel  to  others, 


104  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

he  was  at  least  kind  to  his  mate,  and  he  now  put 
his  great  paw  around  her  little  shoulders  and  gave 
her  one  of  his  leonine  kisses. 

"You  are  as  melancholy  as  an  unstrung 
d-d-drum,"  he  said.  "I  must  cheer  you  up.  How 
would  you  like  a  s-s-song?  What  shall  it  be? 
'Love's  Young  D-D-Dream'?  All  right.  Here 
g-g-goes." 

And  at  the  word,  he  opened  his  great  mouth  and 
stuttered  it  forth  in  stentorian  tones  that  went  bel 
lowing  among  the  hills  like  the  echoes  of  thunder. 

Pepeeta  smiled  at  his  kindness  and  was  grateful 
for  his  clumsy  efforts  at  consolation ;  but  they  did 
not  dispel  her  sadness.  Her  spirits  sank  lower  and 
lower.  The  light  seemed  to  have  faded  out  of  the 
world,  and  the  streams  of  joy  to  have  run  dry.  She 
sighed  again  in  spite  of  herself,  and  in  that  sigh 
exhaled  the  hope  which  had  sprung  from  her  heart 
at  the  prospects  of  a  new  and  sweet  companionship. 

She  had  divined  the  cause  of  her  disappointment 
with  an  unerring  instinct.  It  was  exactly  as  she 
thought.  At  the  last  instant,  David's  heart  had 
failed  him. 

On  the  preceding  evening,  he  had  hurried 
through  his  "chores,"  excused  himself  from  giving 
an  account  of  the  adventures  of  the  day  on  the 
ground  of  fatigue,  and  retired  to  his  room  to 
cherish  in  his  heart  the  memories  of  that  beautiful 
face  and  the  prospects  of  the  future.  He  could  not 
sleep.  For  hours  he  tossed  on  his  bed  or  sat  in 
the  window  looking  out  into  the  night,  and  when 


A   POISONED   SPRING  105 

at  last  he  fell  into  an  uneasy  slumber  his  dreams 
were  haunted  by  two  faces  which  struggled  cease 
lessly  to  crowd  each  other  from  his  mind.  One  was 
the  young  and  passionate  countenance  of  the  gypsy, 
and  the  other  was  that  of  his  beautiful  mother  with 
her  pale,  carven  features,  her  snow-white  hair, 
her  pensive  and  unearthly  expression.  They  both 
looked  at  him,  and  then  gazed  at  each  other. 
Now  one  set  below  the  horizon  like  a  wan,  white 
moon,  and  the  other  rose  above  it  like  the  glowing 
star  of  love.  Now  the  moon  passed  over  the  glow 
ing  star  in  a  long  eclipse  and  then  disappearing 
behind  a  cloud  left  the  brilliant  star  to  shine  alone. 

When  he  awoke  the  gray  dawn  revealed  in  vague 
outline  the  realities  of  the  world,  and  warned  him 
that  he  had  but  a  few  moments  to  execute  his  plans. 
He  sprang  from  his  couch  strong  in  his  purpose  to 
depart,  for  the  fever  of  adventure  was  still  burning 
in  his  veins,  and  the  rapturous  looks  with  which 
Pepeeta  had  received  his  promise  to  be  her  com 
panion  still  made  his  pulses  bound.  He  hurriedly 
put  a  few  things  into  a  bundle  and  stole  out  of  the 
house. 

As  he  moved  quietly  but  swiftly  away  from  the 
familiar  scenes,  his  heart  which  had  been  beating  so 
high  from  hope  and  excitement  began  to  sink  in 
his  bosom.  He  had  never  dreamed  of  the  force  of 
his  attachment  to  this  dear  place,  and  he  turned 
his  face  toward  the  old  gray  house  again  and  again. 
Every  step  away  from  it  seemed  more  difficult  than 
the  last,  and  his  feet  became  heavy  as  lead.  But 


106  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

he  pressed  on,  ashamed  to  acknowledge  his  ina 
bility  to  execute  his  purpose.  He  came  to  the  last 
fence  which  lay  between  him  and  the  bridge  where 
he  had  agreed  to  await  the  adventurers,  and  then 
paused. 

He  was  early.  There  was  still  time  to  reflect. 
Had  the  carriage  arrived  at  that  moment  he  would 
have  gone ;  but  it  tarried,  and  the  tide  of  love  and 
regret  bore  him  back  to  the  old  familiar  life.  "I 
cannot  go.  I  cannot  give  it  up,"  he  murmured  to 
himself. 

Torn  by  conflicting  emotions,  inclining  to  first 
one  course  and  then  another,  he  finally  turned  his 
face  away  from  the  bridge  and  fled,  impelled  by 
weakness  rather  than  desire.  He  did  not  once  look 
back,  but  ran  at  the  top  of  his  speed  straight  to  the 
old  barn  and  hid  himself  from  sight.  There,  breath 
less  and  miserable,  he  watched.  He  had  not  long  to 
wait.  The  dazzling  "turn-out"  dashed  into  view. 
On  the  high  seat  he  beheld  Pepeeta,  saw  the  eager 
glance  she  cast  at  the  farm  house,  followed  her  until 
they  arrived  at  the  bridge,  beheld  her  disappoint 
ment,  raved  at  his  own  weakness,  rushed  to  the 
door,  halted,  returned,  rushed  back  again,  returned, 
threw  himself  upon  the  sweet  smelling  hay,  cursed 
his  weakness  and  indecision  and  finally  surrendered 
himself  to  misery. 

From  the  utter  wretchedness  of  that  bitter  hour, 
he  was  roused  by  the  ringing  of  the  breakfast  bell. 
Springing  to  his  feet,  he  hastened  to  the  spring, 


A   POISONED   SPRING  107 

bathed  his  face,  assumed  a  cheerful  look  and  entered 
the  house. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  attempted  the 
practice  of  deception,  and  experienced  the  bitter 
ness  of  carrying-  a  guilty  secret  in  his  bosom.  How 
he  worried  through  the  morning  meal  and  the  pray 
er  at  the  family  altar,  he  never  knew,  and  he 
escaped  with  inexpressible  relief  to  the  stable  and 
the  field  to  take  up  the  duties  of  his  daily  life.  He 
found  it  plodding  work,  for  the  old  inspirations  to 
endeavor  had  utterly  vanished.  He  who  had  hith 
erto  found  toil  a  beatitude  now  moved  behind  the 
plow  like  a  common  drudge. 

Tired  of  the  pain  which  he  endured,  he  tried 
again  and  again  to  forget  the  whole  experience  and 
to  persuade  himself  that  he  was  glad  the  adventure 
had  ended ;  but  he  knew  in  his  heart  of  hearts  that 
he  had  failed  to  follow  the  gypsy,  not  because  he 
did  not  really  wish  to,  but  because  he  did  not  wholly 
dare.  The  consciousness  that  he  was  not  only  a 
bad  man  but  a  coward,  added  a  new  element  to  the 
bitterness  of  the  cup  he  was  drinking. 

Each  succeeding  day  was  a  repetition  of  the  first, 
and  became  a  painful  increment  to  his  load  of  mis 
ery  and  unrest.  The  very  world  in  which  he  lived 
seemed  to  have  undergone  a  transformation.  The 
sunlight  had  lost  its  glory,  the  flowers  had  become 
pale  and  odorless,  the  songs  of  the  birds  dull  and 
dispiriting. 

What  had  really  changed  was  the  soul  of  the 
young  recluse  and  mystic.  The  consciousness  of 


I08  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

God  had  vanished  from  it ;  the  visions  of  the  spir 
itual  world  no  longer  visited  it ;  he  ceased  to  pray 
in  secret,  and  the  petitions  which  he  offered  at  the 
family  altar  were  so  dull  and  spiritless  as  even  to 
excite  the  observation  and  comment  of  his  little 
nephew. 

"Uncle  Dave,"  remarked  that  fearless  critic,  "you 
pray  as  if  you  were  talking  down  a  deep  well." 

No  wonder  that  the  child  observed  the  fact  upon 
which  he  alone  had  courage  to  comment,  for  there 
is  as  great  a  difference  between  a  prayer  issuing 
from  the  heart  and  one  merely  falling  from  the  lips 
as  between  water  gushing  from  a  fountain  and  rain 
dripping  from  a  roof. 

Some  men  pass  their  lives  in  the  midst  of  environ 
ments  where  insincerity  would  not  have  been  so 
painful;  but  in  a  home  and  a  community  where 
sham  and  hypocrisy  were  almost  unknown  these 
perpetual  deceptions  became  more  and  more  intol 
erable  with  every  passing  hour.  Nothing  could  be 
more  certain  than  that  in  a  short  time,  like  some 
foreign  substance  in  a  healthy  body,  his  nature 
would  force  him  out  of  this  uncongenial  environ 
ment.  With  some  natures  the  experience  would 
have  been  a  slow  and  protracted  one,  but  with  him 
the  termination  could  not  be  long  delayed. 

It  came  in  a  tragedy  at  the  close  of  the  next  Sab 
bath.  The  day  had  been  dreary,  painful  and  exas 
perating  beyond  all  endurance,  and  he  felt  that  he 
could  never  stand  the  strain  of  another.  And  so, 
having  detained  his  mother  in  the  sitting  room 


A   POISONED   SPRING  109 

after  the  rest  of  the  family  had  retired,  he  paced  the 
floor  for  a  few  moments,  and  after  several  unsuc 
cessful  attempts  to  introduce  the  subject  gently, 
said  bluntly: 

"Mother,  I  am  chafing  myself  to  death  against 
the  limitations  of  this  narrow  life." 

"My  son,"  she  said  calmly,  "this  has  not  come  to 
me  as  a  surprise." 

He  moved  uneasily  and  looked  as  if  he  would  ask 
her  "Why?" 

"Because,"  she  said,  as  if  he  had  really  spoken, 
"a  mother  possesses  the  power  of  divination,  and 
can  discern  the  sorrows  of  her  children,  by  a  suf 
fering  in  her  own  bosom." 

The  consciousness  that  he  had  caused  .her  pain 
rendered  him  incapable  of  speech,  and  for  a  mo 
ment  they  sat  in  silence. 

"What  is  thy  wish  and  purpose,  my  son?"  she 
asked  at  last,  with  an  effort  which  seemed  to  ex 
haust  her  strength. 

"I  wish  to  see  the  world,"  he  answered,  his  eye 
kindling  as  he  spoke. 

This  reply,  foreseen  and  expected  as  it  was,  sent 
a  shiver  through  her.  She  turned  paler,  if  possible, 
than  before  ;  but  summoning  all  the  powers  of  self- 
control  resident  in  that  disciplined  spirit,  she  replied 
with  an  enforced  tranquillity: 

"My  son,  does  thee  know  what  this  world  is 
which  thee  fain  would  see?" 

"I  have  seen  it  in  my  dreams.  I  have  heard  its 
distant  voices  calling  to  me.  My  spirit  chafes  to 


110  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

answer  their  summons.  I  strain  at  my  anchor  like 
a  great  ship  caught  by  the  tide." 

"Shall  I  tell  thee  what  this  world  of  which  thee 
has  dreamed  such  dreams  is  really  like,  my  son?" 
she  asked,  struggling  to  maintain  her  calm. 

"How  should  thee  know?" 

"I  have  seen  it." 

'Thee  has  seen  it?  I  thought  that  thee  had 
passed  thy  entire  life  among  the  Quakers,"  he  an 
swered  with  surprise. 

"I  say  that  I  have  seen  it.  Shall  I  tell  thee  what 
it  is  ?"  she  resumed,  as  if  she  had  not  heard  him. 

"If  thee  will/'  he  answered,  awed  by  a  strange 
solemnity  in  her  manner. 

Her  quick  respirations  had  become  audible. 
Small  but  intensely  red  spots  were  burning  on  either 
cheek.  Her  white  hands  trembled  as  they  clutched 
the  arms  of  the  old  rocking  chair  in  which  she  sat. 

"I  will !"  she  said,  regarding  him  with  a  look 
which  seemed  to  devour  him  with  yearning  love. 
'This  world  whose  voices  thee  hears  calling  is  a 
fiction  of  thine  own  brain.  That  which  thee  thinks 
thee  beholds  of  glory  and  beauty  thee  hast  con 
jured  up  from  the  depths  of  a  youthful  and 
disordered  fancy,  and  projected  into  an  unreal 
realm.  That  world  which  thee  has  thus  beheld  in 
thy  dreams  will  burst  like  a  pin-pricked  bubble 
when  thee  tries  to  enter  it.  It  is  not  the  real 
world,  my  son.  How  shall  I  tell  thee  what  that 
real  world  is?  It  is  a  snare,  a  pit-fall.  It  is  a 
flame  into  which  young  moths  are  ever  plunging. 


A  POISONED   SPRING  HI 

It  promises,  only  to  deceive;  it  beckons,  only  to 
betray ;  its  smiles  are  ambushes ;  it  is  sunlight  on 
the  surface,  but  ice  at  the  heart;  it  offers  life,  but 
it  confers  death.  I  bid  thee  fear  it,  shun  it,  hate  it !" 

She  leaned  far  forward  in  her  chair,  and  her  face 
upon  which  the  youth  had  never  seen  any  other 
look  but  that  of  an  almost  unearthly  calm,  was 
glowing  with  excitement  and  passion. 

"Mother,"  he  exclaimed,  "what  does  thee  know 
of  this  world,  thee  who  has  passed  thy  life  in  lonely 
places  and  amongst  a  quiet  people?" 

She  rose  and  paced  the  floor  as  if  to  permit  some 
of  her  excitement  to  escape  in  physical  activity, 
and  pausing  before  him,  said :  "My  only  and  well- 
beloved  son,  thee  does  not  know  thy  mother.  A 
veil  has  been  drawn  over  that  portion  of  her  life 
which  preceded  thy  birth,  and  its  secrets  are  hidden 
in  her  own  heart.  She  has  prayed  God  that  she 
might  never  have  to  bring  them  forth  into  the  light ; 
but  he  has  imposed  upon  her  the  necessity  of  open 
ing  the  grave  in  which  they  are  buried,  in  order  that, 
seeing  them,  thee  may  abandon  thy  desires  to  taste 
those  pleasures  which  once  lured  thy  mother  along 
the  flower-strewn  pathway  to  her  sin  and  sorrow." 

Her  solemnity  and  her  suffering  produced  in  the 
bosom  of  her  son  a  nameless  fear.  He  could  not 
speak.  He  could  only  look  and  listen. 

"Thee  sees  before  thee,"  she  continued,  "the 
faded  form  and  features  of  a  woman  once  young 
and  beautiful.  Can  thee  believe  it?" 

He  did  not  answer,  for  she  had  seemed  to  him 


112  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

as  mothers  always  do  to  children,  to  have  been  al 
ways  what  he  had  found  her  upon  awakening  to 
consciousness.  He  could  not  remember  when  her 
hair  was  not  gray. 

Something  in  her  manner  revealed  to  the  startled 
soul  of  the  young  Quaker  that  he  was  about  to  come 
upon  a  discovery  that  would  shake  the  very  founda 
tion  of  his  life ;  for  a  moment  he  could  not  speak. 

The  silence  in  which  she  awaited  the  answer  to 
her  question  became  profound  and  in  it  the  ticking 
of  the  old  clock  sounded  like  the  blows  of  a  black 
smith's  hammer,  the  purring  of  the  cat  like  the 
roar  of  machinery,  and  the  beating  of  his  heart  like 
the  dull  thud  of  a  battering  ram. 

As  if  reading  his  inmost  thoughts,  the  white- 
faced  woman  said:  "And  so  thee  thought  that  I  was 
always  old  and  gray  ?" 

As  she  uttered  these  words  in  a  tone  of  indescrib 
able  sadness,  a  faint  smile  played  around  the  cor 
ners  of  her  mouth — such  a  marble  smile  as  might 
have  appeared  upon  the  face  of  Niobe.  In  an  in 
stant  more  it  had  composed  itself  into  its  former 
sadness,  as  a  sheet  of  pure  water  resumes  its  calm 
ness,  after  having  been  lightly  stirred  by  a  summer 
wind. 

So  long  did  she  stand  regarding  him  with  looks 
of  unutterable  love  that  he  could  not  endure  the 
strain  of  the  withheld  secret,  but  exclaimed 
hoarsely :  "Go  on  !  Mother,  for  God's  sake,  go  on  ! 
If  thee  has  something  to  disclose,  reveal  it  at  once!" 

It  seemed   impossible   for  her  to   speak.     The 


A  POISONED   SPRING  H3 

opening  of  the  secrets  of  her  heart  to  God  before 
the  bar  of  judgment  could  have  cost  her  no  greater 
effort  than  this  confession  to  her  son. 

"David,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  that  sounded  like 
an  echo  of  a  long-dead  past,  ''the  fear  that  the 
sins  of  thy  parents  should  be  visited  upon  thee  has 
tormented  every  hour  of  my  life.  I  have  watched 
thee  and  prayed  for  thee  as  no  one  but  a  mother 
who  has  drunk  the  bitter  cup  to  its  dregs  could 
ever  do.  I  have  trembled  at  every  childish  sin.  In 
every  little  fault  I  have  beheld  a  miniature  of  the 
vices  of  thy  mother  and  thy  father — thy  father! 
Oh  !  David,  my  son — my  son  !" 

The  white  lips  parted,  but  no  sound  issued  from 
them.  She  raised  her  white  hand  and  clutched  at 
her  throat  as  if  choking.  Then  she  trembled, 
gasped,  reeled,  and  fell  forward  into  his  arms. 

In  a  moment  more,  the  agitated  heart  had  ceased 
to  beat,  and  the  secret  of  her  life  was  hidden  in  its 
mysterious  silence.  The  sudden,  inexplicable  and 
calamitous  nature  of  this  event  came  near  unsettling 
the  mental  balance  of  the  sensitive  and  highly  or 
ganized  youth.  Coming  as  it  did  upon  the  very 
heels  of  the  experiences  which  had  so  thoroughly 
shaken  his  faith  in  the  old  life,  he  felt  himself  to 
be  the  target  for  every  arrow  in  the  quiver  of  mis 
fortune. 

He  seemed  to  himself  not  so  much  like  a  boat 
that  had  sprung  a  single  leak,  as  like  one  out  of 
which  every  nail  had  been  pulled  and  the  joints 
left  open  to  the  inrushing  waters 


114    THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Into  the  unfilled  gap  in  his  mother's  narrative, 
ten  thousand  suspicions  crept,  each  displacing  the 
other  and  leaving  him  more  and  more  in  darkness 
and  in  dread  with  regard  to  the  origin  of  his  own 
life.  Wherever  he  went  and  whatever  he  did  these 
confused  suspicions  resounded  in  his  ears  like  the 
murmur  in  a  seashell. 

He  did  not  dare  communicate  this  story  even  to 
his  sister;  for  if  she  knew  nothing  he  feared  to 
poison  her  existence  by  telling  her,  and  if  she  knew 
all  he  had  not  the  courage  to  listen  to  the  sequel. 
Perhaps  no  other  experience  in  life  produces  a 
more  profound  shock  than  a  discovery  like  that 
upon  which  David  had  so  suddenly  stumbled.  It 
leads  to  despair  or  to  melancholy,  and  many  a  life 
of  highest  promise  has  been  suddenly  wrecked  by 
it.  While  he  brooded  over  this  mystery  the  days 
slipped  past  the  young  mystic  almost  unnoted;  he 
wandered  about  the  farm,  passing  from  one  fit  of 
abstraction  into  another,  doing  nothing,  saying 
nothing,  thinking  everything. 

The  world  was  shrouded  in  a  gloom  through 
whose  shifting  mists  a  single  star  shone  now  and 
then,  emitting  a  brilliant  and  dazzling  ray.  It  was 
the  figure  of  a  gypsy. 

In  his  heavy,  aching  heart  thoughts  of  her  alone 
aroused  an  emotion  of  joy.  As  other  objects  lost 
their  power  to  attract  or  charm,  she  more  and  more 
filled  all  his  horizon. 

Her  name  was  whispered  by  each  passing  breeze. 
It  was  syllabled  by  every  singing  bird.  The  old 


A  POISONED   SPRING  115 

clock  ticked  it  on  the  stairway.  The  hoofs  of  his 
horse  which  he  rode  recklessly  over  the  country 
uttered  it  to  the  hard  roads  on  which  they  fell — 
"Pepeeta,  Pepeeta,  Pepeeta." 

Whenever  he  really  tried  to  banish  the  tempta 
tions  which  haunted  his  soul,  they  always  returned 
to  the  swept  and  garnished  chamber  bringing  with 
them  seven  spirits  worse  than  themselves. 

He  tried  to  look  forward  to  the  future  with  hope. 
But  how  can  a  man  hope  for  harvests,  when  all 
his  seed  corn  has  been  destroyed?  If  his  father 
was  bad,  what  hope  was  there  that  he  could  be 
better? 

He  made  innumerable  resolves  to  take  up  the 
duties  of  life  where  he  had  laid  them  down,  but 
they  were  all  like  birds  which  die  in  the  nest  where 
they  are  born. 

Pepeeta  was  drawing  him  irresistibly  to  herself; 
he  was  like  a  man  in  the  outer  circle  of  a  vortex, 
of  which  she  was  the  center.  The  touch  of  her 
soft  hand  which  he  could  still  feel,  the  farewell 
glance  of  eyes  which  still  glowed  before  his  imag 
ination,  attracted  him  like  a  powerful  magnet.  I: 
was  true  that  he  did  not  know  where  she  was;  but 
he  felt  that  he  could  find  her  in  the  uttermost  pans 
of  the  earth  by  yielding  himself  to  the  impulse 
which  she  had  awakened  in  his  heart. 

"A  dark  veil  of  mystery  hangs  over  my  past.  My 
present  is  full  of  misery  and  unrest.  I  will  see  if 
the  future  has  any  joys  in  store  for  me,"  he  said  to 
himself  at  the  close  of  one  of  his  restless  days, 


216  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Without  so  much  as  a  word  of  farewell,  he  crept 
.?ut  of  the  house  in  the  gathering  dusk,  and  started 
la  pursuit  of  the  bright  object  that  floated  like  a 
3n!l-o'-the-wisp  before  his  inner  eye. 

A  feeling  of  exultation  and  relief  seized  him  as 
he  left  the  place  made  dark  and  dreadful  by  the 
memory  of  that  tragic  scene  through  which  he  had 
so  recently  passed ;  the  quiet  of  the  evening  soothed 
his  perturbed  spirits,  and  the  tranquil  stars  looked 
down  upon  him  with  eyes  that  twinkled  as  if  in 
sympathy. 

It  is  an  old  tradition  of  the  monks,  that  when 
the  sap  begins  to  run  in  the  vines  on  sunny  slopes, 
revolt  and  discontent  thrills  in  the  bottles  impris 
oned  in  the  darkness  of  the  wine  vaults.  Such  a 
iscontent  and  fever  had  been  thrilling  in  David's 
veins  during  these  warm  spring  days,  when  the 
whole  world  had  been  in  a  ferment  of  life,  and  he 
had  been  bottled  up  in  the  gloom  and  narrowness 
of  the  little  country  village ;  and  yielding  himself  to 
the  emotions  that  seethed  in  his  breast,  he  broke 
all  the  tender  ties  of  the  past  and  went  blindly  into 
the  future. 

He  had  been  suddenly  fascinated  by  a  beautiful 
woman  and  bewildered  by  an  unscrupulous  man; 
he  had  felt  the  foundations  of  his  religious  faith 
shaken,  and  discovered  that  his  own  life  had  sprung 
from  an  illicit  passion.  These  are  violent  blows, 
and  many  a  man  has  gone  down  before  a  single 
one  of  them.  If  the  blows  had  been  delivered 
singly  at  long  intervals  he  might  have  survived 


A  POISONED  SPRING 

the  shock;  but  following  each  other  in  swift  suc 
cession  like  great  tidal  waves  they  had  literally 
swept  him  from  his  moorings. 

Such  collapses  fill  us  with  horror  and  question 
ing.  How  do  they  come  about  ?  Can  they  be  pre 
vented  ?  These  are  the  deepest  problems  of  life,  and 
our  psychology  is  still  impotent  to  solve  them. 
We  can  detect  and  measure  the  dross  in  metals 
or  the  poison  in  drugs ;  but  we  have  no  solvent 
that  will  reduce  a  complex  nature  like  David's  into 
its  original  elements  and  enable  us  to  differentiate 
a  son's  responsibility  from  that  of  his  father. 

We  make  bold  guesses  and  confident  affirmations 
as  to  the  comparative  influence  of  heredity  and 
environment.  We  enter  into  learned  disputations 
as  to  the  blessing  or  the  bane  of  an  education  such 
as  his.  But  every  such  case  is  still  a  profound  and  in 
soluble  mystery.  The  most  comprehensive  laws  and 
the  most  careful  generalizations  meet  with  too  many 
exceptions  to  enable  us  to  form  a  science.  The 
children  of  the  good  are  too  often  bad  and  the 
children  of  the  bad  too  often  good  to  permit  us 
to  dogmatize  about  heredity.  We  learn  as  oui 
experience  deepens  and  our  horizon  widens  to  re 
gard  such  collapses  with  a  compassionate  sympathy 
and  a  humbled  consciousness  of  our  own  unfitness 
to  judge  and  condemn.  Whether  we  create  our 
individuality  or  only  bring  it  to  light— is  the 
question  that  makes  us  stumble!  But  while  we 
move  in  the  midst  of  uncertainties  in  this  realm, 
there  is  another  in  which  we  walk  in  the  glare 


Il8  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

of  noonday.  We  know  beyond  the  peradventure  of 
a  doubt  that  whatever  may  be  the  origin  of  such 
weakness  as  that  of  the  young  mystic,  the  results 
are  always  inevitable  !  Nature  never  asks  any  ques 
tions  nor  makes  any  allowances.  To  her  mind, 
sin  is  sin !  Whatsoever  a  man  sows — that  shall  he 
also  reap.  Whether  he  yield  to  evil  voluntarily 
or  be  driven  into  it  by  resistless  force;  whether  he 
sin  because  of  a  self-originating  propensity  or  be 
cause  his  father  sinned  before  him,  is  all  one  to 
those  resistless  executors  of  Nature's  law,  sickness, 
sorrow,  disaster,  death ! 

No  man  ever  defeated  Nature!  No  man  ever 
will!  From  the  instant  when  he  turned  his  back 
upon  his  home,  David's  fate  was  sealed.  He  was 
playing  against  a  certainty  and  he  knew  it.  But 
he  ought  to  have  remembered  it!  It  was  of  this 
that  he  ought  to  have  been  thinking,  and  not  of 
the  gypsy's  eyes! 

Sometimes  such  men  escape  from  the  final  catas 
trophe  of  the  long  series;  but  not  from  the  inter 
mediate  lashings ! 

This  brutal,  idiotic  step  of  Corson's  looks  like  a 
final  plunge;  a  fatal  fall;  a  hopeless  retrogression. 
But  we  must  not  judge  prematurely.  "Man  ad 
vances;  but  in  spiral  lines,"  said  Goethe.  The  river 
goes  forward,  in  spite  of  its  eddies.  You  can  com 
plete  a  geometric  circle  from  a  minute  portion  of 
its  curve;  but  not  a  human  cycle.  We  can  not 
/  predict  the  final  issue  of  a  human  life  until  the  last 
>k  sigh  is  drawn. 


CHAPTER  XL 
THE   FLESH   AND  THE   DEVIL 

"To  tell  men  they  cannot  help  themselves  Is  to  fling  them  into 
recklessness  and  despair."  —  Froude. 

Although  David  did  not  know  the  exact  route 
the  quack  had  laid  out  for  his  journey,  he  was 
certain  that  it  would  be  easy  enough  to  trace  him 
in  that  sparsely-settled  region,  and  so  he  turned 
his  face  in  the  direction  in  which  the  equipage 
vanished  when  he  watched  it  from  the  barn.  His 
movements  did  not  seem  to  come  from  his  own 
volition  but  to  originate  in  something  external. 
He  had  a  sense  of  yielding  to  necessity.  There 
are  heroic  moments  in  our  lives,  when  that 
subtle  force  we  call  our  "will"  demonstrates,  or  at 
all  events  persuades  us,  that  we  are  "free."  There 
are  others,  like  those  through  which  the  young 
adventurer  was  now  passing,  when  we  experience 
a  feeling  of  utter  helplessness  amidst  cosmic  forces 
and  believe  ourselves  to  be  straws  in  a  mighty  wind 
or  ill-fated  stars  borne  along  a  predestined  orbit. 

Surrendering  himself  to  the  current  of  events,  the 
recalcitrant  Quaker  escaped  for  a  time  the  painful 
consciousness  of  personal  responsibility. 

The  tranquil  stars  above  him  seemed  to  look 
down  upon  the  wanderer  in  silent  approval.  The 
night  birds  chanted  their  congratulations  from  the 
tree  tops,  and  reading  his  own  thoughts  into  their 

119 


120  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

songs  he  imagined  he  heard  them  saying,  "Let 
each  one  find  his  mate;  let  each  one  find  his 
mate." 

The  cool  night  breeze  caressed  and  kissed  him  as 
it  hurried  by  on  silent  wings,  and  for  an  hour  or 
two  he  tramped  along  with  a  peace  in  his  heart 
which  seemed  to  be  a  reflection  from  the  outside 
world. 

But  gradually  a  change  came  over  the  face  of 
nature,  and  this,  too,  reflected  itself  in  the  mirror  of 
his  soul. 

In  the  heavens  above  him  the  clouds  com 
menced  to  gather  like  hostile  armies.  They  skir 
mished,  sent  out  their  flying  battalions  and  then 
fell  upon  each  other  in  irresistible  fury.  Great, 
jagged  flashes  of  lightning,  like  sword  thrusts  from 
gigantic  and  hidden  hands  rent  the  sky;  wild 
crashes  of  thunder  pealed  through  the  reverber 
ating  dome  of  heaven;  the  rain  fell  in  torrents;  the 
elements  of  nature  seemed  to  have  evaded  their 
master,  vaulted  their  barriers  and  precipitated 
themselves  in  a  furious  struggle. 

The  lonely  pilgrim  perceived  the  resemblance 
which  his  conflicting  emotions  bore  to  this  wild 
scene,  and  smiled  grimly.  He  found  in  all  this 
tumult  a  justification  for  the  tempest  in  his  soul. 

It  was  not  until  the  light  of  morning  struggled 
through  this  universal  gloom,  that  the  weary  and 
bedraggled  traveler  entered  the  outskirts  of  the  then 
straggling  but  growing  and  busy  village  of  Ham 
ilton.  Tired  in  body  and  benumbed  in  mind,  he 


THE   FLESH   AND  THE   DEVIL          121 

made  his  way  to  the  hotel,  conscious  only  of  his 
desire  and  determination  to  look  once  more  upon 
the  face  of  the  woman  whose  image  was  so  indel 
ibly  impressed  upon  his  mind. 

Approaching  the  desk  he  nervously  asked  if  the 
doctor  was  among  the  guests,  flushed  at  the  answer, 
demanded  a  room,  ascended  the  steep  staircase,  and 
was  soon  in  bed  and  asleep.  Fatigued  by  his  long 
tramp,  he  did  not  awaken  until  after  noon,  and 
then,  having  bathed,  dressed  and  broken  his  long 
fast,  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  the  room  occupied 
by  the  doctor  and  his  wife. 

There  was  a  quick  but  gentle  step  in  answer  to 
his  summons,  and  at  the  music  of  that  footfall  his 
heart  beat  tumultuously.  The  door  opened,  and 
before  him  stood  the  woman  who  had  brought 
about  this  mysterious  train  of  events  in  his  life. 

She  started  back  as  she  saw  him,  with  an  invol 
untary  and  timid  motion,  but  so  great  was  her 
surprise  and  joy  that  she  could  not  control  her 
speech  or  action  sufficiently  to  greet  him. 

"Who  is  there?"  cried  the  doctor,  in  his  loud, 
imperative  voice. 

"Mr.  Corson,"  she  answered  in  tones  that  were 
scarcely  audible. 

"Corson?  Who  the  d-d-deuce  is  Corson,  and 
what  the  deuce  does  he  want  ?"  he  asked,  rising  and 
approaching  the  door. 

The  instant  his  eyes  fell  on  the  countenance  of 
the  Quaker,  he  threw  up  both  hands  and  uttered 
a  prolonged  whistle  of  astonishment. 


122  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"The  preacher!"  he  exclaimed.  "The  lost  is 
found.  The  p-p-prodigal  has  returned.  Come  in, 
and  let  us  k-k-kill  the  fatted  calf!" 

Coarse  as  the  welcome  was,  it  was  full  of  sin 
cerity,  and  its  heartiness  was  like  balm  to  the 
wounded  spirit  of  the  youth.  He  grasped  the  ex 
tended  hand  and  permitted  himself  to  be  drawn 
into  the  room. 

Pepeeta,  who  had  recovered  from  the  first  shock 
of  surprise  and  delight,  came  forward  and  greeted 
him  with  a  shy  reserve.  She  gave  him  her  hand, 
and  its  gentle  touch  reanimated  his  soul.  She 
smiled  at  him, — a  gracious  smile,  and  its  light 
illumined  the  darkness  of  his  heart.  His  sadness 
vanished.  He  once  more  felt  an  emotion  of  joy. 

The  excitement  of  their  meeting  having  subsided 
they  seated  themselves,  David  in  an  easy  chair, 
the  doctor  on  the  broad  couch,  and  Pepeeta  on  a 
little  ottoman  at  his  feet.  Vivid  green  curtains  par 
tially  obscured  the  bright  sunshine  which  beat  upon 
the  windows.  The  wall-paper  was  cheap,  vulgar, 
faded.  On  the  floor  was  an  old  ingrain  carpet 
full  of  patches  and  spattered  with  ink  stains.  A 
blue-bottle  fly  buzzed  and  butted  his  head  against 
the  walls,  and  through  the  open  casement  hummed 
the  traffic  of  the  busy  little  town. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  expressive  of 
triumph  and  delight  than  the  face  of  the  quack. 
Whenever  his  feelings  were  particularly  bland  and 
expansive,  he  had  a  way  of  taking  the  ends*  of  his 
enormous  moustache  and  twirling  them  between 


THE   FLESH   AND  THE  DEVIL          123 

his  spatulate  thumbs  and  fingers.  He  did  this  now, 
and  twisted  them  until  the  coarse  hairs  could  be 
heard  grating  against  each  other. 

"Well,  well!"  he  said,  "so  you  could  not  resist 
the  temptation?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  No  wonder!  It's 
not  every  young  fellow  behind  the  p-p-plow-tail 
that  has  a  fortune  thrust  under  his  nose.  Shows 
your  g-g-good  sense.  I  was  right.  I  always  am. 
I  knew  you  were  too  bright  a  man  to  hide  your 
light  under  a  half  b-b-bushel  of  a  village  like  that. 
In  those  seven-by-nine  towns,  all  the  sap  dries  outN. 
of  men,  and  before  they  are  forty  they  begin  to  rattle 
around  like  peas  in  a  p-p-pod.  In  such  places  young  / 
men  are  never  anything  but  milk  sops,  and  old  men 
anything  but  b-b-bald-headed  infants !  You 
needed  to  see  the  world,  young  man.  You  required 
a  teacher.  You  have  put  yourself  into  good  hands, 
and  if  you  stay  with  me  you  shall  wear  d-d-dia 
monds." 

"Whatever  the  results  may  be,  I  have  determined 
to  make  the  experiment,"  said  David,  shrugging 
his  shoulders. 

"Right  you  are.  But  what  b-b-brought  you 
round?  You  were  as  stiff  as  a  ramrod  when  I 
left  you." 

"Circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control, 
and  which  I  want  to  forget  as  soon  as  possible.  My 
old  life  has  ended  and  I  have  come  to  seek  a  new 
one." 

"A  new  life?  That's  good.  Well — we  will  show 
it  to  you,  P-P-Pepeeta  and  I !  We  will  show  you." 


124  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"The  sooner  the  better.    What  am  I  to  do?" 

"Not  too  fast !  There  are  times  when  it  is  better 
to  g-g-go  slow,  as  the  snail  said  to  the  lightning. 
We  must  make  a  b-b-bargain." 

"Make  it  to  suit  yourself." 

"You  d-d-don't  expect  me  to  stick  to  my  old 
offer,  I  reckon.  When  I  made  it,  Mahomet  went 
to  the  m-m-mountain,  and  now  the  mountain  comes 
to  Mahomet;  see?" 

"Do  as  you  please,  I  am  in  no  mood  to  split  hairs, 
nor  pennies.  All  I  ask  is  a  chance  to  put  my  foot 
upon  the  first  round  of  the  ladder  and  if  I  do  not 
get  to  the  top,  I  shall  not  hold  you  responsible," 
David  replied,  dropping  the  "thees"  of  his  Quaker 
life,  in  his  determination  to  divest  himself  of  all  its 
customs  as  rapidly  as  he  could. 

"Hi!  hi!  There's  fire  in  the  flint!  Good  thing! 
you  don't  want  to  split  pennies!  Well,  if  you 
d-d-don't,  I  don't.  You  take  me  on  the  right  side, 
D-D-Davy.  I'll  do  the  square  thing  by  you — see 
if  I  d-d-don't.  Let's  have  a  drink.  Bring  the  bot 
tle,  Pepeeta !" 

She  went  to  the  mantel  and  returned  with  a  flask 
and  two  glasses.  The  quack  filled  them  both  and 
passed  one  to  David.  It  was  the  first  time  in  his 
life  that  he  had  ever  even  smelt  an  intoxicant.  He 
recoiled  a  little ;  but  having  committed  himself  to 
his  new  life,  he  determined  to  accept  all  that  it 
involved.  He  lifted  the  fiery  potion  to  his  lips,  and 
drank. 

"Hot,  is  it,  my  son?"    cried  the  doctor,  laugh- 


THE   FLESH   AND  THE   DEVIL          125 

ing  uproariously  at  his  wry  face.  "You  Qua 
kers  drink  too  much  water !  Freezes  inside  of  you 
and  t-t-turns  you  into  what  you  might  call  two- 
p-p-pronged  icicles.  Give  me  men  with  red  blood 
in  their  veins!  And  there's  nothing  makes 
b-b-blood  red  like  strong  liquors !" 

The  whisky  revived  the  courage  and  loosened 
the  tongue  of  the  youth.  The  repugnance  which 
he  had  instinctively  felt  for  the  vulgar  quack  began 
to  mellow  into  admiration.  He  asked  and  answered 
many  questions. 

"What  part  am  I  to  take  in  this  business?"  he 
asked. 

"What  part  are  you  to  take  in  the  business? 
That's  good,  'Never  put  off  till  to-morrow  what 
you  can  d-d-do  to-day/  'Business  first  and  then 
pleasure/  The  soul  of  business  is  dispatch/ 
These  are  good  mottoes,  my  lad.  I  learned  them 
from  the  wise  men ;  but  if  I  had  not  learned  them, 
I  should  have  invented  them.  What's  your 
p-p-part  of  the  business,  says  you;  listen!  You 
are  to  be  its  m-m-mouth-piece.  That  tongue  of\ 
yours  must  wag  like  the  tail  of  a  d-d-dog;  turn  like  \ 
a  weather-vane ;  hiss  like  a  serpent,  drip  with  honey 
and  poison,  be  tipped  with  p-p-persuasion ;  tell  ten 
thousand  t-t-tales,  and  every  tale  must  sell  a  bot 
tle  of  p-p-panacea !" 

He  paused,  and  looked  rapturously  upon  the  face 
of  his  pupil. 

"This  panacea — has  it  merits?  Will  it  really 
cure?"  asked  David. 


!"X 

Y: 


126  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  doctor  laughed  long  and  loud. 

"Has  it  merits  ?  Will  it  really  cure  ?  Ho !  ho ! 
'Is  thy  bite  good  for  the  b-b-backache  ?'  said  the 
sick  mouse  to  the  cat.  What  difference  does  it 
make  whether  it  will  cure  or  not?  Success  in 
b-b-business  is  not  based  upon  the  quality  of  the 
ni-m-merchandise,  my  son." 

"Upon  what,  then?"  said  David. 

"Upon  the  follies,  the  weaknesses  and  the  p-p- 
passions  of  mankind !    Since  time  began,  a  'univer 
sal  panacea'  has  been  a  sure  source  of  wealth.     It 
makes  no  difference  what  the  panacea  is,  if  you  only 
have  the  b-b-brains  to  fool  the  people.    There  are 
/only  two  kinds  of  people  in  the  world,  my  son — the 
(  fools  and  f-f-foo!ers!" 

\     Even  whisky  could  not  make  David  listen  to  this 
cold-blooded  avowal  without  a  shudder. 

The  keen  eye  of  the  quack  detected  it;  but  in 
stead  of  adulterating  his  philosophy,  he  doubled 
his  dose. 

"Shocks  you,  does  it?  You  will  g-g-get  over  that. 
We  are  not  angels  !  we  are  only  men.  Remember 
what  old  Jack  Falstaff  said  ?  'If  Adam  fell  in  a  state 
of  innocency,  what  shall  I  d-d-do  in  a  state  of 
villainy?'" 

The  boldness  of  the  man  and  the  radicalness  cf 
his  philosophy  dazzled  and  fascinated  the  inexperi 
enced  youth. 

This  was  what  the  astute  and  unscrupulous  in 
structor  expected,  and  he  determined  to  pursue 
his  advantage  and  effect,  if  possible,  the  complete 


THE  FLESH  AND  THE  DEVIL          127 

corruption  of  his  pupil  in  a  single  lesson;  and  so 
he  continued: 

"Got  to  live,  my  son!  Self-p-p-preservation  is 
the  first  law,  and  so  we  must  imitate  the  rest  of 
the  b-b-brute  creation,  and  live  off  of  each  other! 
The  big  ones  must  feed  upon  the  little  and  the 
strong  upon  the  weak.  'Every  man  for  himself  and 
the  d-d-devil  take  the  hindmost!'  That's  my  re 
ligion." 

"You  may  be  right,"  said  David,  "but  I  cannot 
say  that  I  take  to  it  kindly.  I  do  not  see  how  a  man 
can  practice  this  cruelty  and  injustice  without 
suffering." 

"Suffering!  Idea  of  suffering  is  greatly  exag 
gerated.  Ever  watch  a  t-t-toad  that  was  being 
swallowed  by  a  snake?  Looks  as  if  he  positively 
enjoyed  it.  It's  his  mission.  Born  to  be  eaten !  If 
there  was  as  much  pain  in  the  world  as^p-p-people 
say,  do  you  think  anybody  could  endure  it !  Isn't 
the  d-d-door  always  open  ?  Can't  a  man  quit  when 
he  wants  to?  Suffering!  Pshaw!  Do  I  look  as 
if  I  suffered?  Does  Pepeeta  look  as  if  she  suf 
fered?  And  yet  she  b-b-bamboozles  them  worse 
than  I  do." 

The  head  of  the  gypsy  bent  lower  and  lower  over 
her  crocheting. 

"She  plays  upon  them  like  a  fife !  They  d-d-dance 
when  she  whistles !  Next  to  wanting  a  universal 
panacea  for  pain,  the  idiots  want  a  knowledge  of 
the  future!  Everybody  but  me  wants  to  know 
.what  kind  of  a  to-morrow  God  Almighty  has  made 


\ 


128  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

for  him.  I  make  my  own  to-morrows!  I  don't 
ask  to  have  my  destiny  made  up  for  me  like  a 
t-t-tailor  coat.  I  make  my  own  destiny.  If  things 
d-d-don't  come  my  way,  I  just  pull  them !  People 
talk  about  'following  Providence !'  I  follow  Provi 
dence  as  an  Irishman  follows  his  wheel-barrow.  I 
shove  it!  See?  But  that  is  not  the  way  of  the 
rest  of  them,  thank  Fortune!  And  so  Pepeeta 
gathers  them  in !  Strange  fish  g-g-get  into  her  net, 
Davy.  Back  there  in  your  own  little  t-t-town  she 
caught  some  of  your  long-faced  old  Quakers, 
b-b-big  fellows  with  broad-brimmed  hats,  drab 
coats  and  ox  eyes,  regular  meetin'-goers !  And  there 
was  that  little  d-d-dove-eyed  girl.  What  was  it  she 
wanted  to  know,  P-P-Pepeeta?  Tell  him.  Ha!  ha! 
Tell  him  and  we  will  see  him  b-b-blush." 

"She  asked  me  if  her  father  was  going  to  send 
her  to  Philadelphia  this  winter,"  she  answered, 
without  lifting  her  eyes. 

"I  don't  mean  that !" 

"She  asked  me  whether  I  could  tell  them  where 
to  find  the  spotted  heifer." 

"The  d-d-deuce,  child!  Why  don't  you  tell  me 
what  she  asked  you  'bout  D-D-Davy?" 

"It  is  time  for  us  to  go  to  supper  or  we  shall  be 
late,"  she  replied,  laying  aside  her  work  and  rising. 

"Sure  enough!"  cried  the  doctor,  springing  to 
his  feet.  "The  Q-Q-Quaker  has  knocked  every 
thing  out  of  my  head.  Come  on  !" 

He  rose  and  began  bustling  about  the  room. 

When  Pepeeta  glanced  up  from  her  work  she 


THE  FLESH  AND  THE  DEVIL          129 

saw  in  David's  eye  a  grateful  appreciation  of  her 
courtesy  and  tact,  and  his  look  filled  her  with  a  new 
happiness. 

The  disgust  awakened  in  the  Quaker's  mind  by 
the  coarseness  of  the  quack  was  more  than  offset 
by  the  beauty  and  grace  of  the  gypsy.  When  he 
looked  at  her,  when  he  was  even  conscious  of 
her  presence,  he  felt  a  happiness  which  compen 
sated  for  all  that  he  had  suffered  or  lost.  He  did 
not  stop  to  ask  what  its  nature  was.  He  had  cast 
discretion  to  the  winds.  He  had  in  these  few  hours 
since  his  departure  broken  so  utterly  with  the  past 
that  he  was  like  a  man  who  had  been  suddenly 
awakened  from  a  long  lapse  of  memory.  His  old 
life  was  as  if  it  had  never  been.  He  felt  himself 
to  be  in  a  vacuum,  where  all  his  ideas  must  be 
newly  created.  This  epoch  of  his  experience  was 
superimposed  upon  the  other  like  a  different  geo 
logical  formation.  Like  the  old  monks  in  their 
cells,  he  was  deliberately  trying  to  erase  from  the 
parchment  of  his  soul  all  that  had  been  previously 
written,  in  order  that  he  might  begin  a  new  life 
history. 


CHAPTER  XIL 
THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME 

"Misled  by  Fancy's  meteor-ray 

By  passion  driven: 
But  yet  the  light  that  led  astray 

Was  light  from  heaven." 
— Burns. 

A  little  before  dusk  the  three  companions 
started  upon  their  evening's  business.  The  horses 
and  carriage  were  waiting  at  the  door  and  they 
mounted  to  their  seats.  David  was  embarrassed 
by  the  novelty  of  the  situation,  and  Pepeeta  by  his 
presence ;  but  the  quack  was  in  his  highest  spirits. 
He  saluted  the  bystanders  with  easy  familiarity, 
ostentatiously  flung  the  hostler  a  coin,  flourished 
his  whip  and  excited  universal  admiration  for  his 
driving. 

During  the  turn  which  they  took  around  the  city 
for  an  advertisement,  he  indoctrinated  his  pupil  with 
the  principles  of  his  art. 

"People  to-day  are  just  what  they  were  centuries 
ago.  G-g-gull  'em  just  as  easy.  Make  'em  think 
the  moon  is  made  of  g-g-green  cheese — way  to 
catch  larks  is  to  p-p-pull  the  heavens  down — ex 
tract  sunbeams  from  c-c-cucumbers  and  all  the  rest! 
There's  one  master-weakness,  Davy.  They  all 
think  they  are  sick,  or  if  they  d-d-don't,  you  can 
make  'em!" 

"What !    Make  a  well  man  think  he  is  sick  ?"  the 
Quaker  asked  in  astonishment. 
110 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME  131 

"Sure !  That's  the  secret  of  success.  I  can  pick 
out  the  strongest  man  in  the  c-c-crowd  and  in  five 
minutes  have  pains  shooting  through  him  like 
g-g-greased  lightning.  They  are  all  like  jumping- 
jacks  to  the  man  that  knows  them.  You  watch 
me  pull  the  string  and  you-you'll  see  them  wig-wig- 
wiggle." 

"It  seems  a  pity  to  take  advantage  of  such  weak 
ness  in  our  fellow  men,"  said  David,  whose  heart 
began  to  suffer  qualms  as  he  contemplated  this  ras 
cality  and  his  own  connection  with  it. 

"Fellow  men !  They  are  no  fellows  of  mine.  The)'* 
are  nuts  for  me  to  c-c-crack.  They  are  oysters  for 
me  to  open!"  responded  the  quack,  as  he  drove 
gaily  into  the  public  square  and  checked  the  horses, 
who  stood  with  their  proud  necks  arched,  champing 
their  bits  and  looking  around  at  the  crowd  as  if 
they  shared  their  master's  contempt. 

Pepeeta  descended  from  the  carriage  and  made 
her  way  hastily  into  the  tent  which  had  already 
been  pitched  for  her.  The  doctor  lighted  his  torch 
and  set  his  stock  of  goods  in  order  while  David, 
obeying  his  directions,  began  to  move  among  the 
people  to  study  their  habits.  Elbowing  his  way 
here  and  there,  he  contemplated  the  crowd  in  the 
light  of  the  quack's  philosophy,  and  as  he  did  so 
received  a  series  of  painful  mental  shocks. 

"The  first  principle  in  the  art  of  painting  a  pic 
ture  is  to  know  where  to  sit  down ;"  in  other  words, 
everything  depends  upon  the  point  of  view.  Now 
that  David  began  to  look  for  evidences  of  the  weak- 


132  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

nesses  and  follies  of  his  fellow  men,  he  saw  them 
everywhere.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  ob 
served  that  startling  prevalence  of  animal  types 
which  always  communicates  such  a  shock  to  the 
mind  of  him  who  has  never  discovered  it  before. 
Every  countenance  suddenly  seemed  to  be  the  face 
of  a  beast,  but  thinly  and  imperfectly  veiled.  There 
were  foxes  and  tigers  and  wolves,  there  were  bull 
dogs  and  monkeys  and  swine.  He  had  always  seen, 
or  thought  he  saw,  upon  the  foreheads  of  his  fellow 
men  some  evidence  of  that  divinity  which  had  been 
communicated  to  them  when  God  breathed  into  the 
great  first  father  the  breath  of  life;  but  now  he 
shuddered  at  the  sight  of  those  thick  lips  and  droop 
ing  jaws,  those  dull  or  crafty  eyes,  those  sullen, 
sodden,  gargoyle  features,  as  men  do  at  beholding 
monstrosities. 

A  few  weeks  ago  he  would  have  felt  a  profound 
pity  at  this  discovery,  but  so  rapid  and  radical  had 
been  the  alteration  in  his  feelings  that  he  was  now 
seized  by  a  sudden  revulsion  and  contempt.  "Are 
these  creatures  really  men?"  he  asked  himself.  He 
stood  there  among  them  taller,  straighter,  keener, 
handsomer  than  them  all,  and  the  old  feelings  that 
have  made  men  aristocrats  and  tyrants  in  every  age 
of  the  world,  surged  in  his  heart  and  hardened  it 
against  them. 

By  this  time  the  quack  had  finished  his  few  sim 
ple  preparations,  and,  standing  erect  before  his 
audience,  began  the  business  of  the  evening. 

Having  observed  the  habits  of  the  §ame,  David 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME     133 

now  chose  a  favorable  position  to  study  those  of 
the  hunter.  He  watched  with  an  almost  breathless 
interest  every  expression  upon  that  sinister  face  and 
listened  with  a  boundless  interest  to  every  word  that 
fell  from  those  treacherous  lips. 

He  was  not  long  in  justifying  the  quack's  honest 
criticism  of  his  own  oratory.  His  voice  lacked 
the  vibrant  tones  of  a  musical  instrument  and  his 
rhetoric  that  fluency,  without  which  the  highest 
effects  of  eloquence  can  never  be  attained.  By 
speaking  very  slowly  and  deliberately  he  avoided 
stammering,  but  this  always  acted  like  a  dragging 
anchor  upon  the  movement  of  his  thought.  These 
were  radical  defects,  but  in  every  other  respect  he 
was  a  consummate  artist.  He  arrested  the  attention 
of  his  hearers  with  an  inimitable  skill  and  held  it 
with  an  irresistible  power. 

His  piercing  eye  noted  every  expression  on  the 
faces  of  his  hearers,  and  seemed  to  read  the  inmost 
secrets  of  their  hearts.  He  perceived  the  slightest  in 
clination  to  purchase,  and  was  as  keen  to  see  a  hand 
steal  towards  a  pocket-book  as  a  cat  to  see  a  mouse 
steal  out  of  its  hole. 

He  coaxed,  he  wheedled,  he  bantered,  he  abused, 
— he  even  threatened.  He  fulfilled  his  promise  to 
the  letter,  "to  make  the  well  men  think  that  they 
were  sick,"  and  many  a  stalwart  frontiersman  whose 
body  was  as  sound  as  an  ox,  began  to  be  conscious 
of  racking  pains. 

Nor  were  those  legitimate  arts  of  oratory  the 
only  ones  which  this  arch-knave  practiced. 


134  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"I  gave  you  two  dollars,  and  you  only  gave  me 
change  for  one,"  cried  a  thin-faced,  stoop-shoul 
dered,  helpless-looking  fellow,  who  had  just  pur 
chased  a  bottle  of  the  "Balm  of  the  Blessed 
Islands." 

With  lightning-like  legerdemain  the  quack  had 
shuffled  this  bill  to  the  bottom  of  his  pile,  and  lift 
ing  up  the  one  that  lay  on  top,  exposed  it  to  the 
view  of  his  audience. 

"That's  a  lie!"  he  said,  in  his  slow,  impressive 
manner.  "There  is  always  such  a  man  as  this  in 
every  crowd.  Some  one  is  always  trying  to  take 
advantage  of  those  who,  like  myself,  are  living  for 
the  public  good.  Gentlemen,  you  saw  me  lay  the 
b-b-bill  he  gave  me  down  upon  the  top!  Here  it 
is ;  judge  for  yourselves.  That  is  a  bad  man !  Be 
ware  of  him !" 

The  bold  effrontery  of  the  quack  silenced  the  timid 
customer,  who  could  only  blush  and  look  confused. 
His  blushes  and  confusion  condemned  him  and  the 
crowd  hustled  him  away  from  the  wagon.  They 
believed  him  guilty  and  he  half  believed  it  of  him 
self. 

David,  who  had  seen  the  bill  and  knew  the  vic 
tim's  innocence  but  not  the  doctor's  fraud,  pressed 
forward  to  defend  him.  The  quack  stopped  and 
silenced  him  with  an  inimitable  wink,  and  then  in 
stantly  and  with  consummate  art  diverted  his  audi 
tors  with  a  series  of  droll  stories  which  he  always 
reserved  for  emergencies  like  this.  They  were  old 
and  thread-bare,  but  this  was  the  reason  he  chose 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME     135 

them.  He  had  one  for  every  circumstance  and 
occasion. 

There  was  a  man  standing  in  an  outer  circle  of 
the  crowd  around  whose  forehead  was  a  bandage. 
"Come  here,  my  friend,"  said  the  quack.  "How  did 
you  get  this  wound?  Don't  want  to  tell?  Oh! 
well,  that  is  natural.  A  horse  kicked  him,  no  doubt ; 
never  got  it  in  a  row !  No !  No !  Couldn't  any 
one  hit  him !  Reminds  me  of  the  man  who  saw  a 
big  black-and-blue  spot  on  his  boy's  forehead.  'My 
son,'  said  he,  'I  thought  I  told  you  not  to  fight? 
How  did  you  get  this  wound?'  'I  bit  it,  father/ 
replied  the  boy. 

"  'Bit  it !'  exclaimed  the  old  man  in  astonishment, 
'how  could  you  bite  yourself  upon  the  forehead?' 

'  'I  climbed  onto  a  chair,'  says  he. 

"And  have  you  been  climbing  on  a  chair  to  bite 
your  forehead,  too,  my  friend?"  he  asked  with 
humorous  gravity,  while  a  loud  guffaw  went  up 
from  the  crowd. 

"Well,"  he  continued  soothingly,  "whether  you 
did  it  or  riot,  just  let  me  rub  a  little  of  this  b-b-balm 
upon  it,  and  by  to-morrow  morning  it  will  be  well. 
There !  that's  right.  One  dollar  is  all  it  costs. 
You  don't  want  it?  What  the  d-d-deuce  did  you 
let  me  open  the  b-b-bottle  for?  I'll  leave  it  to  the 
crowd  if  that  is  fair?  There,  that  is  right.  Pay  for 
it  like  a  man.  It's  worth  double  its  price.  Thank 
you.  By  to-morrow  noon  you  will  b-b-be  sending 
me  a  testimonial  to  its  value.  Do  you  want  to  hear 
some  of  my  testimonials,  gentlemen?" 


V 


136  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  crowd  shuffled  and  stood  over  on  its  other 
foot.  The  doctor,  putting  an  enormous  pair  of 
spectacles  upon  his  nose,  took  up  a  piece  of  paper 
and  pretended  to  read  slowly  and  carefully  to  avoid 
stammering: 

'  'Dr.  Aesculapius. 

'  'Dear  Sir :  I  was  wounded  in  the  Mexican  war. 
I  have  been  unable  to  walk  without  crutches  for 
many  years;  but  after  using  your  liniment,  I  ran 
for  office !'  Think  of  it,  gentlemen,  the  day  of 
miracles  has  not  passed.  'I  lost  my  eyesight  four 
years  ago,  but  used  a  bottle  of  your  "wash"  and  saw 
wood.'  Saw  wood,  gentlemen,  what  do  you  think 
of  that?  He  saw  wood!  'Some  time  ago  I  lost  the 
use  of  both  arms ;  but  a  kind  friend  furnished  me 
with  a  box  of  your  pills,  and  the  next  day  I  struck 
a  man  for  ten  dollars/  There  is  a  triumph  of  the 
medical  art,  my  friends.  And  yet  even  this  is  sur 
passed  by  the  following :  'I  had  been  deaf  for  many 
years,  stone  deaf;  but  after  using  your  ointment, 
I  heard  that  my  aunt  had  died  and  left  me  ten 
thousand  dollars.'  Think  of  it,  gentlemen,  ten 
thousand  dollars!  And  a  written  guarantee  goes 
with  every  bottle,  that  the  first  thing  a  stone-deaf 
man  will  hear  after  using  this  medicine  will  be  that 

;'iis    aunt   has    died    and    left    him    ten    thousand 
lollars." 

During  all  these  varied  operations,  David  had 
never  taken  his  eyes  from  the  face  of  the  quack. 
Even  his  quick  wit  had  often  been  baffled  by  the 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME  137 

almost  superhuman  adroitness  of  this  past  grand 
master  of  his  art. 

The  novelty  of  the  scene,  the  skill  of  the  principal 
actor,  the  rapid  growth  of  the  piles  of  coin  and 
bills,  the  frantic  desire  of  the  people  to  be  gulled, 
all  served  to  obscure  those  elements  which  were 
calculated  to  appeal  to  the  Quaker's  conscience. 
He  felt  like  one  awakened  from  a  dream.  While  he 
was  still  in  the  half  dazed  condition  of  such  an 
awakening,  the  quack  gave  him  a  sign  that  this  part 
of  his  lesson  was  ended,  and  following  the  direc 
tion  of  the  thumb  which  he  threw  over  his  shoul 
der  towards  Pepeeta's  tent,  he  eagerly  took  his  way 
thither. 

Before  the  door  stood  several  groups  of  young 
men  and  maidens,  talking  under  their  breath  as  if 
in  the  presence  of  some  august  deity.  Now  and 
then  a  couple  disentangled  itself  from  the  crowd, 
and  with  visible  trepidation  entered.  As  they  re 
appeared,  their  friends  gathered  about  them  and 
besought  them  to  disclose  the  secrets  they  had 
discovered. 

Some  of  them  giggled  and  simpered,  others 
laughed  boisterously  and  skeptically,  while  others 
still,  looked  scared  and  anxious.  It  was  evident 
that  even  those  who  tried  to  make  light  of  what 
they  had  seen  and  heard  were  moved  by  something 
awe-inspiring. 

David  listened  to  their  silly  talk,  observed  their 
bold  demeanor  and  their  vulgar  manners,  while  the 
impression  of  weakness,  of  stupidity,  of  the  lowness 


138  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  beastiality  of  humanity  made  upon  his  mind  by 
the  aged  and  the  mature,  was  intensified  by  his 
observation  of  the  young  and  callow. 

He  did  not  anywhere  see  a  spark  of  true  nobility. 
He  did  not  hear  a  word  of  wisdom.  Everything 
was  moving  on  a  low,  material  and  animal  plane. 
He  felt  that  manhood  and  womanhood  was  not 
what  he  had  believed  it  to  be. 

From  the  outside  of  the  gypsy's  tent,  he  could 
make  but  few  discoveries  of  her  method;  and  he 
waited  impatiently  until  the  last  curious  couple  had 
departed.  When  they  had  disappeared,  he  entered. 

At  the  opposite  side  of  the  tent  and  reclining 
upon  a  low  divan  was  the  gypsy.  Above  her  head 
a  tallow  candle  was  burning  dimly.  Before  her  was 
a  rough  table  covered  with  a  shawl,  upon  which 
were  scattered  cups  of  tea  with  floating  grounds, 
ivory  dice,  cards,  coins  and  other  implements  of  the 
"Black  Art." 

Pepeeta  sprang  to  her  feet  when  she  saw  who 
her  visitor  was,  and  exhibited  the  clearest  signs  of 
agitation.  David's  own  emotions  were  not  less 
violent,  for  although  the  gypsy's  surroundings  were 
poor  and  mean,  they  served  rather  to  enhance  than 
to  diminish  her  exquisite  beauty.  Her  shoulders 
and  arms  were  bare,  and  on  her  wrists  were  gold 
bracelets  of  writhing  serpents  in  whose  eyes 
gleamed  diamonds.  On  her  fingers  and  in  her  ears 
were  other  costly  stones.  Her  dress  was  silk,  and 
rustled  when  she  moved,  with  soft  and  sibilant 
sounds. 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME  139 

"The  doctor  has  sent  me  here  to  study  the  meth 
ods  by  which  you  do  your  work,"  said  David  ap 
proaching  the  table  and  gazing  at  her  with  undis 
guised  admiration. 

"You  should  have  come  before.  How  can  you 
study  my  methods  when  I  am  not  practicing  them? 
And  any  way,  you  have  no  faith  in  them.  Have 
you?  I  always  had  until  I  heard  your  sermon  in 
the  little  meeting  house." 

"And  have  you  lost  it  now?" 

"It  has  been  sadly  shaken." 

"You  can  at  least  show  me  how  you  practice 
the  art,  even  if  you  have  lost  your  faith  in  it.  I  too 
have  lost  a  faith ;  but  we  must  live.  What  are  these 
cards  for?" 

"If  you  wish  me  to  show  you,  you  may  shuffle 
and  cut  them,  but  I  would  rather  tell  your  fortune 
by  your  hand,  for  I  have  more  faith  in  palmistry 
than  in  cards." 

He  extended  his  hand ;  she  took  it,  and  with  her 
right  forefinger  began  to  trace  the  lines.  Her  gaze 
had  that  intensity  with  which  a  little  child  peers 
into  the  mechanism  of  a  watch  or  an  astronomer 
into  the  depths  of  space. 

A  thrill  of  emotion  shot  through  the  frame  of  the 
Quaker  at  the  touch  of  those  delicate  and  beautiful 
fingers. 

The  contrast  between  his  own  hands  and  hers 
was  marked  enough  to  be  almost  ridiculous.  Hers 
were  tiny,  soft  and  white.  His  were  large,  brown 
and  calloused.  He  thought  to  himself,  "It  is  as 


140  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

if  two  little  white  mice  were  playing  about  an  enor 
mous  trap  which  in  a  moment  may  seize  them." 

Neither  of  them  spoke.  The  delicate  finger  of 
the  gypsy  moved  over  the  lines  of  the  palm  like  that 
of  a  little  school-girl  over  the  pages  of  a  primer. 
They  did  not  realize  how  dangerous  was  that  prox 
imity,  nor  how  fatal  that  touch.  Through  those 
two  poles  of  Nature's  most  powerful  battery,  the 
magnetic  and  mysterious  current  of  love  was 
passing. 

"What  do  you  see?"  said  David,  at  last. 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  she  asked,  lifting  her  eyes  to 
his. 

"If  you  please,"  he  said. 

"I  will  do  so  if  you  wish  :  but  if  the  story  of  your 
life  is  really  written  in  the  palm  of  your  hands,  it 
is  sad  indeed,  and  you  would  be  happier  if  you  knew 
it  not." 

"But  it  is  not  written  there.  I  do  not  believe  it, 
nor  do  you." 

"Let  us  hope  that  it  is  not,"  she  answered,  and 
began  the  following  monologue  in  a  low  musical 
monotone : 

"Marked  as  it  is  with  the  signs  of  toil,  this  hand 
has  still  retained  all  those  characteristics  that  an 
artist  would  choose  as  a  model.  It  is  perfect  in  its 
form.  The  palm  is  of  medium  size,  the  fingers 
without  knots,  the  third  phalanges  are  all  long  and 
pointed,  and  the  thumb  is  beautifully  shaped.  Who 
ever  possesses  a  hand  like  this  must  be  guided  by 
ideals.  He  is  a  worshiper  of  the  sublime  and  beau- 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME  141 

tiful.  He  disdains  small  achievements,  embarks 
enthusiastically  upon  forlorn  hopes,  and  is  spurred 
to  victory  by  the  fervor  of  his  desires. 

"See  this  thumb  !  How  finely  it  is  pointed.  The 
first  phalanx  is  short,  and  indicates  that  above  all 
other  things  he  is  a  man  of  heart  and  will  be  dom 
inated  by  his  affections.  He  will  yield  to  tempta 
tions,  perhaps ;  but  the  second  phalanx  is  long  and 
reveals  a  power  of  reason  and  logic  which  will 
probably  triumph  at  last." 

Not  a  single  word  of  all  this  had  David  heard. 
Her  voice  sounded  to  him  like  the  low  droning  of 
bees  in  a  meadow,  and  he  had  been  watching  the 
movements  of  her  fingers,  as  he  used  to  watch 
the  dartings  of  the  minnows  in  the  pools  of  the 
brook  which  ran  through  his  farm. 

"How  smooth  the  fingers  are!  And  how  they 
taper  to  the  cone,"  continued  Pepeeta.  "Here  is 
this  one  of  Jupiter,  for  example.  How  plainly  it 
tells  of  religiousness  and  perhaps  of  fanaticism! 
The  Sun  finger  is  not  long.  Nay,  it  is  not  long 
enough.  There  is  too  little  love  of  glory  here.  And 
the  Saturnian  finger  is  too  long.  The  life  is  too 
much  under  the  dominion  of  Fate  or  Destiny.  The 
Mercurial  finger  is  short.  He  will  be  firm  in  his 
friendships.  The  moons  all  correspond.  They, 
also,  are  too  large.  The  Mount  of  Venus,  here  at 
the  base  of  the  thumb,  is  excessively  developed, 
and  indicates  capacity  for  gentleness,  for  chivalry, 
for  tenderness  and  love.  The  Mount  of  the  Moon 
is  small,  That  is  good.  There  will  be  no  disturb- 


142  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

ance  of  the  brain,  no  propensity  towards  lunacy. 
Mars  is  not  excessive,  but  it  is  strong,  and  he  will 
be  bold  and  courageous,  but  not  quarrelsome." 

The  pleasant  murmur  of  the  voice,  the  gentle 
pressure  of  her  hand,  her  nearness  and  her  beauty, 
had  rendered  the  Quaker  absolutely  oblivious  to 
her  words. 

"Let  me  now  examine  the  lines,"  she  continued. 
"Here  is  the  line  of  the  heart.  It  passes  clear  across 
the  palm.  It  is  well  marked  at  every  point  and  is 
most  pronounced  upon  the  upper  side.  The  love 
will  not  be  a  sensual  passion,  but  look !  it  is  joined 
to  the  head  below  the  finger  of  Saturn.  L  is  the 
sign  of  a  violent  death!  Heavens!" 

As  she  uttered  this  exclamation,  she  pressed  the 
hand  convulsively  between  her  own,  and  looked 
up  into  his  face. 

The  involuntary  and  sudden  action  recalled  him 
to  his  consciousness.  "What  did  you  say?"  he 
asked. 

"Have  you  not  been  listening?"  she  replied,  re 
pressing  both  her  anxiety  and  her  annoyance. 

"No;  was  it  a  good  story  or  a  bad  one  which 
you  were  reading?" 

"It  was  both." 

"Well — it  is  no  matter,  those  accidental  marks 
can  have  no  significance." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  am  sure." 

"You  do  not  believe  in  any  signs?" 

"None." 


THE  MOTK  AND  THE  FLAME  143 

"You  know  that  the  traveler  on  the  desert  told 
the  Bedouin  that  he  did  not,  and  yet  from  the  foot 
prints  of  the  camels  the  Bedouin  deciphered  the 
whole  history  of  a  caravan." 

Astonished  at  her  reply,  David  did  not  answer. 

"And  then,  you  know,"  she  continued,  "there 
are  the  weather  signs." 

"Yes— that  is  so." 

"And  what  are  the  letters  of  a  book  but  signs  ?" 

"You  are  right  again." 

"And  is  not  hardness  a  sign  of  something  in  a 
stone,  and  heat  of  something  in  fire  ?  And  are  not 
deeds  the  sign  of  some  quality  in  a  man's  soul,  and 
the  expressions  of  his  face  signs  of  emotions  of  his 
heart?" 

"They  are." 

"So  that  by  his  gait  and  gestures  each  man  says : 
'I  am  a  farmer — a  quack — a  Quaker — a  soldier — 
a  priest'?" 

"This,  too,  is  true." 

"Why,  then,  should  not  the  character  and  des 
tiny  of  the  man  disclose  itself  in  signs  and  marL; 
upon  his  hands?" 

David  was  too  much  astonished  by  these  words 
to  answer.  They  revealed  a  mental  power  which 
he  had  not  even  suspected  her  of  possessing.  He 
discovered  that  while  she  was  as  ignorant  as  a 
child  in  the  realms  of  thought  to  which  she  had 
been  unaccustomed,  in  her  sphere  of  experience  and 
reflection  she  was  both  shrewd  and  deep. 


144  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"You  have  thought  much  about  this  matter,"  he 
said. 

"Too  much,  perhaps." 

"It  is  deeper  than  I  knew." 

"And  so  is  everything  deeper  than  we  know.  Tell 
me,  if  you  can,  why  it  is  that  having  met  you  I  have 
lost  faith  in  my  art,  and  having  met  me  you  have 
lost  faith  in  your  religion." 

"It  is  strange." 

"Something  must  be  true.  Do  you  not  think 
so?" 

"I  have  begun  to  doubt  it." 

"I  believe  that  what  you  said  is  true." 

As  they  stood  thus  confronting  each  other,  they 
would  have  presented  a  study  of  equal  interest  to 
the  artist  or  to  the  philosopher.  There  was  both  a 
poem  and  a  picture  in  their  attitude.  Grace  and 
beauty  revealed  themselves  on  every  feature  and  in 
every  movement.  They  had  arrived  at  one  of  those 
dramatic  points  in  their  life-journey,  where  all  the 
tragic  elements  of  existence  seem  to  converge. 
Agitated  by  incomprehensible  and  delicious  emo 
tions,  confronting  insoluble  problems,  longing, 
hoping,  fearing,  they  hovered  over  the  ocean  of  life 
like  two  tiny  sparrows  swept  out  to  sea  by  a 
tempest. 

The  familiar  objects  and  landmarks  had  all  van 
ished.  As  children  rise  in  the  morning  to  find  the 
chalk  lines,  inside  of  which  they  had  played  their 
game  of  "hop-scotch,"  washed  out  by  the  rain,  they 
had  awakened  to  find  that  the  well  known  pathways 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME     145 

and  barriers  over  which  and  within  which  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  move  had  all  been  obliterated. 
They  had  nothing  to  guide  them  and  nothing  to 
restrain  them  except  what  was  written  in  their 
hearts,  and  this  mysterious  hieroglyph  they  had  not 
yet  learned  to  decipher. 

They  were  awakened  from  their  reveries  by  the 
footsteps  of  the  quack,  and  by  his  raucous  voice 
summoning  them  back  into  the  world  of  realities 
from  which  they  had  withdrawn  so  completely. 

"Well,  little  wife,"  he  said,  "how  is  b-b-busi- 
ness?" 

"Fair,"  she  said,  gathering  up  a  double  hand-full 
of  change  and  passing  it  over  to  him  indifferently. 

The  question  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  Quaker 
like  a  thunder  bolt.  It  was  to  him  the  first  inti 
mation  that  Pepeeta  was  not  the  daughter  of  the 
quack.  "His  wife!"  The  heart- of  the  youth  sank 
in  his  bosom.  Here  was  a  new  and  unexpected 
complication.  What  should  he  do?  It  was  too  late 
to  turn  back  now.  The  die  had  been  cast,  and  he 
must  go  forward. 

The  doctor  rattled  on  with  an  unceasing  flow  of 
talk,  while  the  mind  of  the  Quaker  plunged  into  a 
series  of  violent  efforts  to  adjust  itself  to  this  new 
situation.  He  tried  to  force  himself  to  be  glad 
that  he  had  been  mistaken.  He  for  the  first  time 
fully  admitted  the  significance  of  the  qualms  which 
he  felt  at  permitting  himself  to  regard  this  stroll 
ing  gypsy  with  such  feelings  as  had  been  in  his 
heart. 


146  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"But  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  can  go  forward 
with  less  compunction.  I  can  gratify  my  desire  for 
excitement  and  adventure  with  perfect  safety.  I 
will  stay  with  them  for  a  while,  and  when  I  am 
tired  can  leave  them  without  any  entanglements." 
When  the  situation  had  been  regarded  for  a  little 
while  from  this  point  of  view,  he  felt  happier  and 
more  care-free  than  for  weeks.  He  solaced  his  dis 
appointment  with  the  reflection  that  he  should  still 
be  near  Pepeeta,  but  no  longer  in  any  danger. 

At  this  profound  reflection  of  the  young  moth 
hovering  about  the  flame,  let  the  satirist  dip  his  pen 
in  acid,  and  the  pessimist  in  gall !  There  is  enough 
folly  and  stupidity  in  the  operations  of  the  human 
mind  to  provoke  the  one  to  contempt  and  the  other 
to  despair. 

The  cuttle-fish  throws  out  an  inky  substance  to 
conceal  itself  from  its  enemies ;  but  the  soul  ejects 
an  opaque  vapor  in  which  to  hide  from  itself !  In 
this  mist  of  hallucination  which  rises  and  envelopes 
us,  the  whole  appearance  of  life  alters.  Pas 
sion  and  desire  repress  the  judgment  and  per 
vert  the  conscience.  Conclusions  that  are  illogical, 
expectations  that  are  irrational  and  confidences  that 
are  groundless  to  the  most  final  and  fatal  absurdity 
seem  as  natural  and  reasonable  as  intuitions. 

It  is  not  in  human  nature  to  escape  this  per 
version  of  thought  and  feeling  under  the  stress  of 
temptation.  One  may  as  well  try  to  prevent  the 
rise  of  temperature  in  the  blood  in  the  rage  of 
fever.  There  are  times  when  even  the  upright  in 


THE  MOTH  AND  THE  FLAME  147 

heart  must  withdraw  to  the  safe  covert  of  the  inner 
sanctuary  and  there  fervently  put  up  the  master 
prayer  of  the  soul,  "Lord,  lead  me  not  into  tempta 
tion  !"  But  if  necessity  or  duty  calls  them  out  into 
the  midst  of  life's  dangers,  let  them  remember  that 
what  they  feel  in  the  calm  retreat,  is  not  what  will 
surge  through  their  disordered  intellects  and  their 
bounding  pulses  when  they  come  within  the  reach 
of  those  fearful  fascinations! 

It  was  such  a  prayer  that  David  had  need  of  when 
he  gave  his  hand  to  the  gypsy. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
FOUND  WANTING 

"How  oft  the  sight  of  means  to  do  ill  deeds  makes  ill  deeds 
done!"  —King  John. 

The  spring  and  summer  had  passed,  autumn 
had  attained  the  fullness  of  its  golden  beauty,  and 
the  inevitable  had  happened.  David  and  Pepeeta 
had  passed  swiftly  though  not  unresistingly 
through  all  the  intervening  stages  between  a  chance 
acquaintance  and  an  impassioned  love. 

Any  other  husband  than  the  quack  would  have 
foreseen  this  catastrophe;  but  there  is  one  thing 
blinder  than  love,  and  that  is  egotism  such  as  his. 
His  colossal  vanity  had  not  even  suspected  that  a 
woman  who  possessed  him  for  her  husband  could 
for  a  single  instant  bestow  a  thought  of  interest  on 
any  other  man. 

Astute  student  of  men,  penetrating  judge  of 
motive  and  conduct  that  he  was,  he  daily  beheld 
the  evolution  of  a  tragedy  in  which  he  was  the 
victim,  with  all  the  indifference  of  a  lamb  observing 
the  preparations  for  its  slaughter.  Because  of  this 
ignorance  and  indifference,  the  fellowship  of  these 
two  young  people  had  been  as  intimate  as  that  of 
brother  and  sister  in  a  home,  and  this  new  life  had 
wrought  an  extraordinary  transformation  in  the 
habits  and  character  of  both. 

David  had  abandoned  the  Quaker  idiom  for  the 
148 


FOUND  WANTING  149 

speech  of  ordinary  men,  and  discarded  his  former 
habiliments  for  the  most  conventional  and  stylish 
clothes.  Contact  with  the  world  had  sharpened  his 
native  wit,  and  given  him  a  freedom  among  men 
and  women,  that  was  fast  descending  into  abandon. 
Success  had  stimulated  his  self-confidence  and 
made  him  prize  those  gifts  by  which  he  had 
once  aroused  the  devotion  of  adoring  worshipers 
in  the  Quaker  meeting  house;  he  soon  found  that 
they  could  be  used  to  victimize  the  crowds  which 
gathered  around  the  flare  of  the  torch  in  the  pub 
lic  square. 

That  which  his  friends  had  once  dignified  by  the 
name  of  spiritual  power  had  deteriorated  into  some 
thing  but  little  above  animal  magnetism.  He  had 
learned  to  cherish  a  profound  contempt  for  men 
and  morals,  and  the  shrewd  maxims  which  the 
quack  had  instilled  into  his  mind  became  the  gov 
erning  principles  of  his  conduct.  Those  qualities 
which  he  had  inherited  from  his  dissolute  father, 
and  which  had  been  so  long  submerged, 
were  upheaved,  while  all  that  he  had  received 
from  his  mother  by  birth  and  education  sank  out 
of  sight  and  memory.  Three  elemental  passions 
assumed  complete  possession  of  his  soul — the  love 
of  admiration,  of  gambling  and  of  the  gypsy. 

A  transformation  of  an  exactly  opposite  charac 
ter  had  been  taking  place  in  Pepeeta.  Under  the 
sunshine  of  David's  love,  and  the  dew  of  those  spir 
itual  conceptions  which  had  fallen  upon  her  thirsty 
spirit,  the  seeds  of  a  beautiful  nature,  implanted  at 


150  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

her  birth,  germinated  and  developed  with  aston 
ishing  rapidity.  Walking  steadily  in  such  light  as 
fell  upon  her  pathway  and  ever  looking  for  more, 
her  spiritual  vision  became  clearer  and  clearer  every 
day;  and  while  this  affection  for  God  purified  her 
soul,  her  love  for  David  expanded  and  transformed 
her  heart.  Her  unbounded  admiration  for  him 
blinded  her  to  that  process  of  deterioration  in  his 
character  which  even  the  quack  perceived.  To  her 
partial  eye  a  halo  still  surrounded  the  head  of  the 
young  apostate.  But  while  these  two  new  affections 
wrought  this  sudden  transformation  in  the  gypsy 
and  filled  her  with  a  new  and  exquisite  happiness, 
the  circumstances  of  her  life  were  such  that  this" 
illumination  could  not  but  be  attended  with  pain, 
for  it  brought  ever  new  revelations  of  those  ethical 
inconsistencies  in  which  she  discovered  herself  to 
be  deeply  if  not  hopelessly  involved. 

There  was,  in  the  first  place,  the  inevitable  con 
flict  between  her  new  sense  of  duty,  and  the  life  of 
deception  which  she  was  leading.  The  practice  of 
her  art  of  fortune-telling  was  daily  becoming  a 
source  of  unendurable  pain  as  she  saw  more  and 
more  clearly  the  duty  of  leaving  the  future  to  God 
and  living  her  daily  life  in  humble,  child-like  faith. 
And  in  the  second  place,  she  was  slowly  awaking  to 
the  terrifying  consciousness  that  her  affection  for 
David  was  producing  a  violent  and  ungovernable 
disgust  for  her  husband. 

By  the  flood  of  sorrows  which  poured  from  these 
two  discoveries,  she  seemed  to  be  completely  over- 


FOUND  WANTING  15* 

whelmed  and  if,  like  a  diver,  she  rose  to  the  sun 
light  now  and  then,  it  was  only  to  seize  a  few 
breaths  of  air  by  which  she  might  be  able  to  en 
dure  her  existence  in  the  depths  to  which  she  was 
compelled  to  return. 

No  wonder  that  life  became  a  mystery  to  this 
poor  child.  It  seemed  as  if  its  difficulties  increased 
in  a  direct  ratio  with  her  wish  to  discharge  its 
duties;  as  if  the  darkness  gained  upon  the  light, 
and  the  burden  grew  heavy,  faster  than  her 
shoulders  grew  strong. 

The  discovery  of  the  nature  of  that  affection  which 
she  felt  for  David  had  been  slow  and  unwelcome, 
coming  to  her  even  before  David's  protestations 
of  his  love;  yet  one  day  the  passionate  feelings  of 
their  hearts  found  expression  in  wild  and  startling 
confessions.  They  were  terrified  at  what  they  told 
each  other;  but  it  became  necessary  therefore  to 
seek  the  comfort  of  still  other  confessions  and 
confidences. 

Their  interviews  had  steadily  become  more  ar 
dent  and  more  dangerous ;  and  the  doctor's  negli 
gence  giving  them  the  utmost  freedom,  they  often 
spent  hours  together  in  wandering  about  the  cities 
they  visited,  or  the  fields  and  woods  lying  near. 

On  one  of  these  tramps,  their  relationship  reached 
a  critical  stage.  It  was  the  early  morning  of  a  beau 
tiful  autumn  day  that  they  strolled  up  Broadway 
in  the  city  of  Cincinnati,  turned  into  the  Reading 
road,  and  sauntered  slowly  out  into  the  country. 

"In  which  direction  shall  we  go  ?"  asked  David. 


152  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Let  us  wander  without  thought  or  purpose,  like 
those  beautiful  clouds,"  Pepeeta  answered,  point 
ing  upward. 

David  watched  them  silently  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  "Pepeeta,  men  and  women  are  like  those 
clouds.  They  either  drift  apart  forever,  or  meet  and 
^mingle  into  one.  It  must  be  so  with  us." 

She  walked  silently  by  his  side,  sobered  by  the 
seriousness  of  his  voice  and  words. 

"Perhaps,"  he  continued,  "it  makes  but  little 
difference  what  becomes  of  us,  for  our  lives  are 
like  the  clouds,  a  morning  mist;  a  momentary  ex 
halation.  And  yet,  how  filled  with  joy  or  woe  is 
this  moment  of  parting  or  commingling!  Pepeeta, 
I  have  decided  that  this  day  must  terminate  my 
suspense.  I  cannot  endure  it  any  longer.  I  must 
know  before  night  whether  our  lives  are  to  be 
united  or  divided.  You  have  told  me  that  you  love 
me,  and  yet  you  will  not  give  yourself  to  me.  What 
am  I  to  think  of  this?" 

"My  friend,"  she  cried  with  an  infinite  pain  in  her 
voice,  "how  can  you  force  me  to  such  a  decision 
when  you  know  all  the  difficulties  of  my  life  ?  How 
can  you  thus  forget  that  I  have  a  husband?" 

"I  do  not  forget  it,"  he  answered  bitterly,  "I 
cannot  forget  it.  It  is  an  eternal  demonstration  of 
the  madness  of  faith  in  any  kind  of  Providence.  It 
makes  me  hate  an  order  which  unites  a  lion  to  a 
lamb,  and  marries  a  dove  to  a  hawk !  You  say  that 
you  loathe  this  man!  Then  leave  him  and  come 


FOUND  WANTING  153 

with  me!  The  world  lies  before  us.  We  are  as 
free  as  those  clouds !" 

"We  are  not  free,  and  neither  are  they,"  she  an 
swered.  "Something  binds  them  to  their  pathway, 
as  it  binds  me  to  mine.  I  cannot  leave  it.  I  must 
tread  it  even  though  I  have  to  tread  it  alone." 

"You  can  leave  it  if  you  will ;  but  if  you  will  not, 
I  must  know  the  reason  why." 

"Oh  !  why  will  you  not  see  ?  I  have  tried  so  hard 
to  show  you !  I  have  told  you  that  there  is  a  voice 
which  speaks  within  my  soul,  that  to  it  I  must 
listen  and  that  the  inward  light  of  which  you  told 
me  shines  upon  the  path  and  I  must  follow  it." 

"I  could  curse  that  inward  light!  Must  I  be 
always  confronted  by  the  ravings  of  my  youth  ?  All 
my  life  long  must  the  words  of  my  credulous  child 
hood  hang  about  my  neck  like  a  millstone  ?  There 
is  no  inward  light.  You  are  living  a  delusion.  You 
are  restrained  by  the  conventionalities  of  life  and 
are  the  slave  of  the  customs  of  society.  Because 
the  miserable  herd  of  mankind  is  willing  to  submit 
to  that  galling  yoke  of  marriage,  does  it  follow 
that  you  must  ?  By  what  right  can  society  demand 
that  men  and  women  who  abhor  each  other  should 
be  doomed  to  pass  their  lives  in  hopeless  agony? 
Against  such  laws  I  protest !  I  defy  those  customs. 
The  path  of  life  is  short.  We  go  this  way  but 
once !  Who  is  to  refuse  us  all  the  joy  that  we  can 
find  ?  There  will  be  sorrow  enough,  any  way !" 

"Oh !  my  friend,  do  not  talk  so !  Do  not  break 
my  heart!  Have  pity  on  me.  I  know  that  it  is 


154  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

hard  for  you ;  but  it  is  I  who  have  to  suffer  most. 
It  is  I  who  must  continually  exert  this  terrible  re 
sistance  which  alone  keeps  us  from  being  swept 
away.  Have  mercy,  David!  Spare  me  a  little 
longer.  Spare  me  this  one  day  at  least.  If  any 
troubled  heart  had  ever  need  of  the  rest  and  peace 
of  such  a  day  as  this,  it  is  mine !  Let  us  give  our 
selves  up  to  these  soothing  influences.  Let  us 
wander.  Let  us  dream  and  let  us  love." 

"Love!  This  accursed  Platonic  affection  is  not 
love,"  he  answered  savagely. 

"David,"  she  said  with  an  enforced  calmness, 
"you  must  not  speak  so.  It  will  do  no  good.  There 
is  something  in  me  stronger  than  this  passion. 
From  the  bottom  of  my  soul  there  has  come  a 
sense  of  duty  to  a  power  higher  than  myself  and 
I  will  be  true  to  it.  I  believe  that  it  is  God  who 
speaks.  You  may  appeal  to  my  mind,  and  I 
cannot  answer  you,  but  my  heart  has  rea 
sons  of  its  own  higher  than  the  reason  itself. 
It  was  you  who  told  me  this !  You  told  me  when  you 
were  so  beautiful,  so  good,  so  true  that  I  know  you 
were  right,  and  I  shall  never  doubt  it.  I  am  not 
what  I  was.  I  am,  oh !  so  different.  I  cannot  un 
derstand  ;  but  I  am  different." 

There  was  in  this  delicate  and  ethereal  girl 
who  spoke  so  fearlessly  something  which  held  the 
man,  strong  in  his  physical  might,  in  an  inexplica 
ble  and  irresistible  awe.  Before  a  mountain,  beside 
the  sea,  beneath  the  stars  and  in  the  presence  of  a 


FOUND  WANTING  155 

virtuous  woman,  emotions  of  wonder  and  rever 
ence  possess  the  souls  of  men. 

Subdued  by  this  influence,  David  said,  with  more 
gentleness:  "But  what  are  we  to  do?  We  cannot 
live  in  this  way.  We  have  been  forced  into  a  sit 
uation  from  which  we  must  escape,  even  if  we  have 
to  act  against  our  consciences." 

"I  do  not  think  that  this  is  so !  I  do  not  believe 
that  any  one  can  be  placed  against  his  will  in  a 
situation  that  is  opposed  to  his  conscience !  There 
must  be  some  other  way  to  do.  A  door  will  open. 
Let  us  wait  and  hope  a  little  longer.  Let  us  have 
another  happy  day  at  least,"  Pepeeta  said. 

Heaving  a  sigh  and  shrugging  his  shoulders  as 
if  to  throw  off  a  burden,  David  answered,  "Well,  let 
it  be  as  you  wish.  I  have  had  to  suffer  so  much 
that  perhaps  I  can  endure  it  a  little  longer.  I  do 
not  want  to  make  you  unhappy.  I  will  try." 

"Oh !  thank  you,  thank  you  a  thousand  times ; 
that  is  like  yourself !"  Pepeeta  said,  her  face  aglow 
with  gratitude. 

It  was  a  light  from  -the  soul  itself  that  shone 
through  the  thin  transparency  of  that  face,  pale 
with  thought  and  suffering,  and  gave  it  its  new 
radiance. 

The  world  around  them  was  steeped  in  autumn 
beauty.  A  gigantic  smile  was  on  the  face  of 
Nature.  Fleecy,  fleeting  clouds  were  chasing  each 
other  across  the  blue  dome  of  the  heavens.  The 
hazy  atmosphere  of  the  Indian  summer  softened 
the  landscape  and  lent  it  a  mystical  and  unearthly 


156  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

charm.  The  forests  were  resplendent  with  those 
brilliant  colors  which  appear  like  a  last  flush  of  life 
upon  the  dying  face  of  summer,  as  she  sinks  into 
her  wintry  grave.  The  autumn  birds  were  singing ; 
the  autumn  flowers  were  blooming ;  yellow  golden 
rod  and  scarlet  sumach  glowed  in  the  corners  of 
the  fences ;  locusts  chirped  in  treetops ;  grasshop 
pers  stridulated  in  the  meadows,  one  or  two  of 
them  making  more  noise  than  a  whole  drove  of 
cattle  lying  peacefully  chewing  their  cud  be 
neath  an  umbrageous  elm  and  lifting  up  their 
great,  tranquil,  blinking  eyes  to  the  morning  sun. 
Here  and  there  boys  and  girls  could  be  seen  in 
the  vineyards  and  orchards  gathering  grapes  and 
apples.  Farmers  were  cutting  their  grain  and 
stacking  it  in  great  brown  shocks,  digging  pota 
toes,  or  plowing  the  fertile  soil.  Now  and  then  a 
traveler  met  or  passed  them,  clucking  to  his  horses 
and  hurrying  to  the  city  with  his  produce.  Amid 
these  gracious  influences,  life  gradually  lost  its 
stern  reality  and  took  on  the  characteristics  of  a 
pleasant  dream.  The  fever  and  unrest  abated,  bur 
dens  weighed  less  heavily,  sorrow  became  less 
poignant;  the  finer  joys  of  both  the  waking  and 
sleeping  hours  of  existence  were  mysteriously 
blended. 

Sharp  and  irritating  as  the  encounter  had  been 
between  the  two  lovers,  the  momentary  antipathy 
passed  away  as  they  moved  along.  They  drew 
nearer  together;  they  lifted  their  eyes  furtively; 
their  glances  met ;  they  smiled ;  they  spoke ;  their 


FOUND  WANTING  157 

sympathies  flowed  back  into  the  old  channel ;  their 
hopes  and  affections  mingled.  They  gave  them 
selves  up  to  joy  with  the  abandon  of  youth,  falling 
into  that  mood  in  which  everything  pleases  and 
delights.  Nature  did  not  need  to  tell  them  her 
secrets  aloud,  for  they  comprehended  her  whispers 
and  grasped  her  meaning  from  sly  hints.  They 
melted  into  her  moods. 

What  joys  were  theirs!  To  be  young;  to  be 
drawn  together  by  an  affinity  which  produced  a 
mysterious  and  ineffable  happiness;  to  wander 
aimlessly  over  the  earth ;  to  yield  to  every  passing 
fancy;  to  dream;  to  hope;  to  love.  It  was  the 
culminating  hour  of  their  lives. 

Passing  through  the  little  village  since  called 
Avondale,  they  turned  down  what  is  now  the 
Clinton  Springs  road,  climbed  a  hill,  de 
scended  its  other  slope,  and  came  upon  an  old 
spring  house  where,  as  they  paused  to  drink,  David 
scratched  their  names  with  his  penknife  on  one  of 
the  stones  of  the  walls,  where  they  may  be  read 
to-day. 

Leaving  the  turnpike,  they  entered  a  grove 
through  which  flowed  a  noisy  stream;  cast 
themselves  upon  a  bank,  bathed  their  faces, 
ate  their  lunch  and  rested.  There  for  a  few  mo 
ments,  in  the  tranquil  and  uplifting  influence 
of  the  silence  and  the  solitude,  all  that  was 
best  in  their  natures  came  to  the  surface. 
Pepeeta  nestled  down  among  the  roots  of  a 
great  beech  tree,  her  hat  flung  upon  the  ground 


158  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

by  her  side,  her  arms  folded  across  her  bosom, 
her  face  upturned  like  a  flower  drinking  in 
the  sunshine  or  the  rain.  At  her  feet  her  lover  re 
clined,  his  head  upon  his  arms  and  his  gaze  fixed 
upon  the  canopy  of  leaves  which  spread  above  them 
and  through  which  as  the  branches  swayed  in  the 
breeze  he  caught  glimpses  of  the  sky. 

Pepeeta  broke  the  silence.  "I  could  stay  here 
forever,"  she  said.  "I  nestle  here  in  the  roots  of 
this  great  tree  like  a  little  child  in  the  arms  of  its 
mother.  I  feel  that  everything  around  me  is  my 
friend.  I  feel,  not  as  if  I  were  different  from  other 
things,  but  as  if  I  were  a  part  of  them.  Do  you 
comprehend?  Do  you  feel  that  way?" 

"More  than  at  any  time  since  leaving  home," 
he  said.  "That  was  the  way  I  always  felt  in  the  old 
days — how  far  away  they  seem!  I  could  then  sit 
for  hours  beside  a  brook  like  this,  and  thoughts  of 
God  would  flow  over  my  soul  like  water  over  the 
stones ;  and  now  I  do  not  think  of  Him  at  all !  It  was 
by  a  brook  like  this  that  we  first  met.  Do  you  re 
member,  Pepeeta?" 

"I  shall  never  forget." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"As  certain  as  that  I  live." 

"Sure — certain!  Of  what  are  we  sure  but  the 
present  moment?  Into  it  we  ought  to  crowd  all 
the  joys  of  existence." 

Her  feminine  instinct  discovered  the  return  of  his 
thoughts  into  the  old  dangerous  channel,  and  her 
quick  wit  diverted  them. 


FOUND  WANTING  159 

"Tell  me  more  about  your  home,  and  how  you 
felt  when  you  used  to  sit  like  this  and  think/' 

He  determined  to  yield  himself  for  a  little  while 
longer  to  her  will,  and  said:  "In  those  days  Na 
ture  possessed  for  me  an  irresistible  fascination; 
but  the  spell  is  broken  now.  I  then  thought  that 
I  was  face  to  face  with  the  eternal  spirit  of  the 
universe.  How  far  I  have  drifted  away  from  the 
world  in  which  I  then  existed !  I  could  never  re 
turn  to  it.  I  am  like  a  bird  which  has  broken  its 
shell  and  which  can  never  be  put  back  again.  I 
have  found  another  face  into  which  I  now  look  with 
still  deeper  wonder  than  into  that  of  Nature,  and 
which  exerts  a  still  deeper  fascination.  It  is  the 
face  of  a  woman,  in  whom  all  the  beauties  of  nature 
seem  to  be  mirrored.  She  is  everything  to  me; 
she  is  the  entire  universe  embodied  in  a  gentle 
heart." 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  look  that  made  her  pulses 
beat ;  but  she  was  determined  not  to  permit  him  to 
drift  back  into  that  dangerous  mood  from  which 
she  had  drawn  him  with  such  difficulty. 

"One  time  ycu  told  me,"  she  said,  "that  the  birds 
and  squirrels  were  such  good  friends  to  you,  that 
if  you  called  them  they  would  come  to  you  like 
your  dog.  I  should  love  to  see  that.  Look !  There 
is  a  squirrel  sitting  on  the  limb  of  this  very  tree! 
How  saucy  he  looks !  How  shy !  Bring  him  to 
me!  I  command  you!  You  have  said  that  I  am 
your  mistress ;  go,  slave !" 

Rising  to  her  feet  she  pointed  to  the  squirrel. 


l6o  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Her  lithe  form  was  outlined  against  the  green 
background  of  the  forest  in  a  pose  of  exquisite 
grace  and  beauty,  her  eyes  glowed  with  animation, 
and  her  lips  smiled  with  the  consciousness  of  power. 
It  was  impossible  to  resist  her. 

He  rose,  looked  in  the  direction  toward  which 
she  pointed,  and  saw  the  squirrel  cheeping 
among  the  branches.  Imitating  its  cries,  he  began 
to  move  slowly  toward  it.  The  little  creature 
pricked  up  its  ears,  cocked  its  head  on  one  side, 
flirted  its  bushy  tail  and  watched  the  approaching 
figure  suspiciously.  As  it  drew  nearer  and  nearer, 
he  began  to  creep  down  the  branches.  Stopping 
now  and  then  to  reconnoiter,  he  started  forward 
again ;  paused ;  retreated ;  returned,  and  still  con 
tinued  to  advance,  until  he  was  within  a  foot  or 
two  of  David's  hand,  which  he  examined  first  with 
one  eye  and  then  the  other  and  made  a  motion  as  if 
to  spring  upon  it.  Suddenly  the  spell  was  broken. 
With  a  wild  flirt  of  his  tail  and  a  loud  outcry,  he 
sprang  up  the  tree  and  disappeared  in  the  foli 
age. 

David  watched  him  until  he  had  vanished,  and 
then  turned  toward  Pepeeta  with  a  look  of  disap 
pointment  and  chagrin. 

"It  is  too  bad,"  she  cried,  hastening  toward  him 
sympathetically,  "but  see,  there  is  a  redbird  on 
the  top  of  that  old  birch  tree.  Try  again!  You 
will  have  better  success  this  time,  I  am  sure  you 
will." 

He   determined   to   make   another    experiment. 


FOUND  WANTING  161 

The  brilliant  songster  was  pouring  out  his 
heart  in  that  fine  cry  of  strength  and  hope 
which  he  sends  resounding  over  hill  and  vale.  Sud 
denly  hearing  his  own  voice  repeated  to  him  in  an 
echo  sweet  and  pure  as  his  own  song,  he  fluttered 
his  wings,  peered  this  way  and  that,  and  sang  again. 
Once  more  the  answering  call  resounded,  true  as 
an  image  in  a  mirror. 

David  now  began  to  move  with  greater  caution 
than  before  toward  the  little  creature,  who  looked 
at  him  with  curious  glances.  Back  and  forth  re 
sounded  the  sweet  antiphonal,  and  the  bird  hopped 
down  a  branch  or  two.  Neither  of  the  actors  in 
this  woodland  drama  removed  his  eyes  from  the 
other,  and  the  spectator  watched  them  both  with 
breathless  interest. 

Presently  David  lifted  his  hands — the  palms 
closed  together  in  the  form  of  a  cup  or  nest.  The 
songster  bent  farther  forward  on  the  twig,  and 
suddenly  with  a  downward  plunge  shot  straight 
toward  them ;  but  just  as  his  tiny  feet  touched  the 
fingers,  turned  as  the  squirrel  had  done,  and  utter 
ing  a  loud  cry  of  terror  flew  away.  David  dropped 
his  hands  and  his  eyes. 

"I  have  lost  my  power,"  he  said  sadly. 

"You  are  out  of  practice,  you  must  exercise  it 
oftener.  It  will  all  come  back,"  Pepeeta  responded 
cheerfully. 

They  walked  slowly  and  silently  back  to  the 
place  where  they  had  been  sitting,  and  David  began 
tossing  pebbles  into  the  brook. 


162  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Three  times  to-day,"  he  said,  pausing  and  turn 
ing  toward  Pepeeta,  "I  have  opened  my  hands  and 
my  heart,  and  each  time  the  object  whose  love  I 
sought  has  fluttered  away  from  me  in  terror  or  re 
pugnance." 

"Oh!  no,  not  in  terror  and  repugnance,"  she 
said  eagerly. 

"Am  I  then  incapable  of  exciting  love?"  he 
asked. 

"You  will  break  my  heart  if  you  speak  so.  I  love 
you  more  than  I  love  my  own  life." 

"I  do  not  believe  it.  Can  I  believe  that  the  squir 
rel  and  the  redbird  love  me,  when  they  flee  from 
me  ?  If  they  had  loved  me,  they  would  have  come 
to  me  and  nestled  to  my  heart.  And  so  would  you. 
I  have  come  back  to  the  old  subject.  I  cannot  re 
frain  any  longer.  Will  you  go  with  me,  or  will  you 
not?" 

"Oh!  David,"  she  cried,  wringing  her  hands, 
"why,  why  will  you  break  my  heart?  Why  can 
you  not  permit  me  to  finish  this  day  in  peace? 
Wait  until  some  other  time.  Why  can  you  not 
enjoy  this  present  moment  ?  I  could  wish  it  to  last 
forever,  if  you  were  only  kind.  If  the  flight  of  time 
could  be  stopped,  if  we  could  be  forever  what  we 
are  just  now,  I  could  not  ask  for  any  other  thing. 
See  how  beautiful  the  world  is.  See  how  happy  we 
are.  See  how  everything  hangs  just  like  a  balance ! 
Do  not  speak,  do  not  move;  one  unkind  word 
would  jar  and  spoil  it  all." 

"It  is  impossible,"  he  cried  roughly,  "you  must 


FOUND  WANTING  163 

leave  your  husband  and  come  with  me.    You  can 
not  put  me  off  any  longer.    I  am  desperate." 

He  was  looking  at  her  with  eyes  no  longer  full 
of  pleading,  but  of  determination  and  command. 

"What  will  you  do?"  he  asked. 

"Oh!"  she  answered,  trembling,  "why  will 
you  compel  me  to  act?  Let  something  hap 
pen  !  Wait !  It  is  not  necessary  always  to  act ! 
Sometimes  it  is  better  to  sit  still !  We  are  in  God's 
hands.  Let  us  trust  Him.  Has  He  not  awakened 
this  love  in  our  hearts?  He  has  not  made  us  love 
and  long  for  each  other  only  to  thwart  us  1" 

"Thwart  us !  Who  coaxes  the  flowers  from  the 
ground,  only  that  the  frost  may  nip  them?  Who 
opens  the  bud  only  to  permit  it  to  be  devoured  by 
the  worm?  Who  places  the  babe  in  its  mother's 
arms  only  to  let  it  be  snatched  away  by  the  hand 
of  death  ?  You  cannot  appeal  to  me  in  that  way," 
he  retorted,  bitterly. 

"Do  not  speak  so,"  she  exclaimed  with  genuine 
terror.  "It  is  wicked  to  say  such  things  in  this 
quiet  and  holy  place.  Oh!  why  have  you  lost 
that  faith  you  once  possessed?  What  has  blinded 
your  eyes  to  the  light  that  you  taught  me  to  see? 
I  see  it  now!  All  will  be  well!  Something  says 
to  me  in  my  heart,  'All  will  be  well/  if  we  only  fol 
low  the  light !" 

Nothing  could  have  given  stronger  proof  t 
inspiration  and  intuition  are  as  natural  and  legiti-    / 
mate  functions  of  the  spiritual  nature  as  sensation  / 
and  sense  perception  are  of  the  physical,  than  her 


164  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

words  and  looks.  They  would  have  convinced 
and  mastered  him,  except  for  the  self-denial  which 
they  demanded  of  his  love !  But  he  was  now  far 
past  all  reason. 

"Pepeeta,"  he  cried,  approaching  her,  "you  must 
be  mine  and  mine  alone !  I  can  no  longer  endure 
the  thought  of  your  being  the  wife  of  another  man. 
You  must  come  with  me.  I  will  not  take  'no'  for 
an  answer.  I  command  you  to  leave  this  man  and 
go  with  me.  It  is  a  worse  crime  for  you  to  live 
with  him  when  you  hate  him  than  to  leave  him ! 
Come,  let  us  go !  I  have  money !  There  are  horses 
to  be  had.  He  does  not  know  where  we  are.  Let 
us  fly!" 

It  was  evident  that  he  had  brooked  her  refusal 
as  long  as  he  could.  The  man  was  mad.  He  seized 
her  by  the  arm. 

In  a  single  instant  this  gentle  creature  passed 
through  an  incredible  transformation.  She 
wrenched  her  arm  from  his  hand  and  stood  before 
him  fearless,  resolute,  magnificent!  Her  gypsy 
training  stood  her  in  good  stead  now.  Young  as 
she  was  when  a  pupil  in  that  hard  school,  she  had 
learned  from  her  wild  teachers  the  cardinal  prin 
ciple  of  their  code — loyalty  to  her  marriage  vows. 
They  had  taught  her  to  believe  that  this  breach 
was  the  one  unpardonable  sin. 

She  drew  a  little  stiletto  from  the  folds  of  her 
/dress,  placed  its  point  upon  her  heart  and  said :  "It 
\is  not  necessary  that  a  gypsy  should  live ;  but  it  is 
necessary  that  she  should  be  virtuous !" 


\ 


FOUND  WANTING  165 

Her  resplendent  beauty,  her  fearless  courage, 
her  invincible  determination  quenched  the  wild  im 
pulses  of  the  reckless  youth  in  a  single  instant.  All 
the  manhood,  all  the  chivalry  of  his  better  nature 
rose  within  him  and  did  homage.  He  threw  him 
self  on  his  knees  and  frantically  besought  her  par 
don. 

In  an  instant  the  fierce  light  died  from  her  eyes. 
She  stooped  down,  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm, 
and  with  an  all-forgiving  charity  lifted  him  to  his 
feet.  They  stood  regarding  each  other  in  silence. 
All  that  their  souls  could  reveal  had  been  mani 
fested  in  actions.  The  brief  scene  was  terminated 
by  a  common  impulse.  They  turned  their  faces  to 
ward  the  city  and  walked  quietly,  each  reflecting 
silently  upon  the  struggle  that  had  been  enacted 
and  the  denouement  which  was  yet  to  come. 

In  her  ignorance  and  inexperience,  Pepeeta  hoped 
that  a  scene  so  dreadful  would  quench  the  madness 
in  her  lover's  soul ;  but  this  revelation  of  the  gran 
deur  of  her  nature  only  inflamed  his  desires  the 
more.  The  momentary  feeling  of  shame  and  peni 
tence  passed  away.  His  determination  to  possess 
her  became  more  fixed  than  ever  and  during  the 
homeward  walk  assumed  a  definite  form. 

For  a  long  time  a  sinister  purpose  had  been 
rolling  about  in  his  soul.  That  purpose  now  crys 
tallized  into  resolution.  He  determined  to  commit 
a  crime  if  need  be  in  order  to  gain  his  end. 

Nothing  can  be  more  astonishing  than  the  rapid 
ity  and  ease  with  which  the  mind  becomes  habit- 


i66  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

uated  to  the  presence  of  a  criminal  intention.  The 
higher  faculties  are  at  first  disturbed,  but  they  soon 
become  accustomed  to  the  danger,  and  permit 
themselves  to  be  destroyed  one  after  another,  with 
only  feeble  protestations. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
TURNED  TEMPTER 

"All  men  have  their  price." 
— Walpole. 

The  plan  which  David  had  chosen  to  compel  Pe- 
peeta  to  abandon  her  husband  was  not  a  new  one. 
For  its  execution  he  had  already  made  a  partial 
preparation  in  an  engagement  to  meet  the  justice 
of  the  peace  who  had  performed  her  marriage  cer 
emony.  The  engagement  was  conditioned  upon 
his  failure  to  persuade  the  gypsy  to  accompany  him 
of  her  own  free  will. 

Immediately  after  supper  he  took  his  way  to  the 
place  appointed  for  the  meeting.  This  civil 
officer  had  been  a  companion  of  the  quack's  for 
many  years.  His  natural  capacity,  which  was  of 
the  highest  order,  had  secured  him  one  place  of 
honor  after  another ;  but  he  had  lost  them  through 
the  practice  of  many  vices,  and  had  at  last  sunk 
to  that  depth  of  degradation  in  which  he  was  will 
ing  to  barter  his  honor  for  almost  any  price. 

The  place  at  which  he  had  agreed  to  meet  David 
was  a  low  saloon  in  one  of  the  most  disreputable 
parts  of  the  city,  and  to  this  spot  the  infatuated 
youth  made  his  way.  Now  that  he  was  alone  with 
his  thoughts,  he  could  not  contemplate  his  purpose 
without  a  feeling  of  dread,  and  yet  he  did  not  pause 
aor  seriously  consider  its  abandonment.  His  move- 

!87 


168  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

ments,  as  he  elbowed  his  way  among  the  outcasts 
who  infested  this  degraded  region,  were  those  of  a 
man  totally  oblivious  to  his  surroundings. 

"Curse  him,"  he  muttered  in  an  undertone,  and 
did  not  know  that  he  had  spoken. 

To  talk  to  one's  self  is  so  often  a  premonitory 
symptom  of  either  insanity  or  crime,  that  a  police 
man  standing  on  the  corner  eyed  him  closely  and 
followed  him  down  the  street. 

Having  reached  the  door  of  the  saloon,  David 
cast  a  glance  about  him,  as  if  ashamed  of  being 
observed,  and  entered.  It  was  a  fitting  place  to 
hatch  an  evil  deed.  The  floor  was  covered  with 
filthy  sawdust;  the  air  was  rank  with  the  fumes 
of  sour  beer  and  adulterated  whisky;  the  lamps 
were  not  yet  lighted,  and  his  eyes  blinked  as  he 
entered  the  dirty  dusk  of  the  interior.  Against  the 
wall  were  rude  shelves  strewn  with  bottles,  decan 
ters,  jugs  and  glasses.  The  landlord  was  leaning 
against  the  inside  of  the  bar  glaring  about  him  like 
an  octopus.  The  habitues  of  the  place,  looking 
more  like  scarecrows  than  men,  stood  opposite  him 
with  their  blear  eyes  uplifted  in  ecstasy,  draining 
into  their  insatiable  throats  the  last  precious  drops 
from  their  upturned  glasses. 

At  a  table  four  human  shapes  which  seemed  to 
be  operated  by  some  kind  of  clumsy  mechanical 
motors  rather  than  animated  by  sentient  spirits 
were  playing  a  game  of  chance  and  slapping  the 
greasy  cards  down  upon  the  table  to  the  accom 
paniment  of  coarse  laughter  and  hideous  profanity. 


TURNED  TEMPTER  169 

The  Quaker,  who  was  not  yet  thoroughly 
enough  corrupted  to  witness  this  spectacle  with 
out  horror,  hurried  through  the  room  like  a 
man  who  has  suddenly  found  himself  in  a  pest- 
house.  The  door  which  he  pushed  open  admitted 
him  to  a  parlor  scarcely  less  dirty  and  disgusting 
that  the  saloon  itself,  at  the  opposite  end  of  which, 
wreathed  in  a  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke,  he  beheld 
the  object  of  his  search. 

"Well,  I  see  you  are  here,"  he  said,  drawing  a 
chair  to  the  table. 

"And  waiting,"  a  deep  and  rich  but  melancholy 
voice  replied. 

"Can't  we  have  a  couple  of  candles?  These 
shadows  seem  to  crawl  up  my  legs  and  take  me  by 
the  throat.  I  feel  as  if  some  one  were  blindfolding 
and  gagging  me,"  said  David,  looking  uneasily 
about. 

The  judge  ordered  the  candles,  and  while  they 
were  waiting  observed:  "You  had  better  accus 
tom  yourself  to  shadows,  young  man,  for  you  will 
find  plenty  of  them  on  the  road  you  are  traveling. 
They  deepen  with  the  passing  years,  along  every 
pathway;  but  the  one  on  which  you  are  about  to 
set  your  feet  leads  into  the  hopeless  dark." 

These  unexpected  words  agitated  the  soul  of  the 
young  plotter,  but  while  he  was  still  shuddering 
the  barkeeper  entered  with  the  candles  and  set  them 
down  on  the  table  between  the  two  men,  who  found 
themselves  vis-a-vis  in  the  flickering  gleams. 

They  leaned  on  their  elbows    and  looked  into 


170  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

each  other's  faces.  The  contrast  was  remark 
able.  The  countenance  of  the  judge  had  unques 
tionably  once  been  noble,  and  perhaps  also  beau 
tiful  ;  but  the  massive  features  were  now  coarsened 
by  dissipation.  A  permanent  curl  of  scorn  had 
wreathed  itself  around  the  mouth.  A  look  of  ennui 
brooded  over  his  features.  One  would  as  soon 
expect  to  see  a  flower  in  the  crater  of  a  volcano 
as  a  smile  on  the  lips  of  this  extinct  man. 

David's  face  was  young  and  beautiful.  The 
features  were  still  those  of  a  saint,  even  if  the 
aureole  had  for  a  time  been  eclipsed  by  a  cloud. 
These  two  human  beings  gazed  incredulously  at 
each  other  for  a  moment. 

"I  was  once  like  this  youth,"  the  judge  was  say 
ing  to  himself  with  a  sigh. 

"I  shall  never  be  like  this  beast,"  thought  David 
with  a  shudder  of  repulsion  and  disgust. 

The  "Justice"  (grotesque^  ^paiojjy)  broke  the 
silence. 

"Did  you  succeed  ?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  David,  sullenly. 

"She  would  not  yield,  then?" 

"No  more  than  adamant  or  steel." 

"You  should  have  pressed  her  harder." 

"I  used  my  utmost  skill." 

"You  are  a  novitiate,  perhaps.  An  adept  would 
have  succeeded." 

"Not  with  her." 

"Ah !  who  ever  caught  a  trout  at  the  first  cast  ? 
What  you  need  is  experience." 


TURNED  TEMPTER  171 

"What  I  want  is  help." 

"And  so  you  have  appealed  to  me?  You  wish 
me  to  go  to  this  woman  and  tell  her  that  her  mar 
riage  was  a  fraud  ?" 

"I  do." 

"There  have  been  pleasanter  tasks." 

"Will  you  do  it,  or  will  you  not?" 

"Suppose  she  will  not  believe  me?" 

"You  must  compel  her." 

"Young  man,  have  you  no  compunctions  about 
this  business?"  said  the  judge,  leaning  forward 
and  looking  earnestly  into  the  blue  eyes. 

"Compunctions?"  said  David,  in  a  dry  echo  of 
the  question. 

"Yes,  compunctions,"  replied  the  judge,  repeat 
ing  the  word  again. 

"Oh !  some.  But  for  every  compunction  I  have 
a  thousand  desperate  determinations.  Were  you 
ever  in  love,  Judge  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have  been  in  love,  such  love  as  yours,  and 
that  is  why  I  am  what  I  am  now." 

As  he  uttered  these  words,  he  lifted  the  glass 
which  his  hand  had  been  toying  with,  drained  it 
to  the  dregs,  fixed  his  eyes  on  David  once  more, 
and  after  regarding  him  a  moment  with  a  look  of 
pity,  said  slowly  and  solemnly:  "Young  man,  I 
am  about  to  give  you  good  advice.  You  smile  ?  No 
wonder!  But  I  beg  you  to  listen  to  me.  Some 
times  a  shipwrecked  sailor  makes  the  best  captain, 
for  he  knows  the  force  of  the  tempest.  I  have 
no  conscience  for  myself,  but  some  unaccount- 


172  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

able  emotion  impels  me  to  bid  you  aban 
don  this  project.  Somehow,  as  I  look  at  you,  I 
cannot  bear  to  have  you  become  what  I  am.  You 
seem  so  young  and  innocent  that  I  would  like  to 
have  you  stay  as  you  are.  I  wish  to  save  you.  How 
strange  it  is.  When  I  look  at  you,  I  seem  to  be 
hold  myself  as  I  was  at  your  age." 

As  he  spoke  these  words  the  whole  expression 
of  his  countenance  altered,  and  faint  traces  of  an 
almost  extinguished  manhood  appeared.  It  was 
as  if  beauty,  sunk  below  the  horizon,  had  been 
thrown  up  in  a  mirage. 

So  tender  an  appeal  would  have  broken  a  heart 
like  David's,  except  for  the  madness  of  illicit  love. 

"Judge!"  he  cried,  striking  the  table  with  his 
fist,  "I  did  not  come  here  for  advice,  I  came  for 
help.  I  am  determined  to  have  this  woman.  She 
is  mine  by  virtue  of  my  desire  and  my  capacity  to 
acquire  her!  I  must  have  her!  I  will  have  her, 
by  fair  means  or  foul.  And,  Judge,  in  this  case, 
the  foulest  means  are  fair.  What  seems  an  act  of 
injustice  is  in  reality  an  act  of  mercy.  You  know 
her  husband,  and  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that 
her  life  with  him  will  be  her  ruin.  You  know  that 
the  complacency  with  which  she  once  regarded  him 
has  already  turned  to  disgust,  and  that  it  is  only 
a  single  step  from  disgust  to  hate  and  another  from 
hate  to  murder.  She  will  kill  him  some  day !  She 
cannot  help  it.  It  is  human  nature  and  if  she 
doesn't  I  will !  Come  now,  Judge,  you  will  help  me, 
won't  you?" 


TURNED  TEMPTER  173 

A  cynical  smile  wreathed  itself  around  the  mouth 
of  the  old  roue.  In  his  debauched  nature,  the  oil 
of  sympathy  had  long  ago  been  exhausted.  This 
was  a  last  despairing  flicker.  A  wick  cannot  burn 
alone. 

"Help  you  ?"  he  said  languidly.  "Oh,  yes,  I  will 
help  you.  There  is  no  use  trying  to  save  you.  You 
are  only  another  moth !  You  want  the  fire,  and  you 
will  have  it !  You  will  burn  your  wings  off  as  mil 
lions  have  done  before  you  and  as  millions  will  do 
after  you.  What  then?  Wings  are  made  to  be 
burned !  I  burned  mine.  Probably  if  I  had  another 
pair  I  would  burn  them  also.  It  is  as  useless  to 
moralize  to  a  lover  as  to  a  tiger.  I  am  a  fool  to 
waste  my  breath  on  you.  Let  us  get  down  to  busi 
ness.  You  say  that  she  loves  you,  and  that  s 
will  be  glad  to  learn  that  she  is  free  ?" 

"I  do !  her  heart  is  on  our  side.  She  will  believe 
you,  easily!" 

"Yes,  she  will  believe  me  easily !  She  will  believe 
me  too  easily !  For  six  thousand  years  desire  has 
been  a  synonym  for  credulity.  All  men  believe 
what  they  want  to,  except  myself.  I  believe  every 
thing  that  I  do  not  want  to,  and  nothing  that  I  do ! 
But  no  matter.  How  much  am  I  to  get  for  this 
job?" 

They  haggled  a  while  over  the  price,  struck  a 
bargain  and  shook  hands — the  same  symbol  being 
used  among  men  to  seal  a  compact  of  love  or 
hate,  virtue  or  vice. 

"Be  at  the  Spencer  House  at  eleven  o'clock," 


\ 


174  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

said  David,  rising.  "You  will  find  us  on  the  bal 
cony.  The  doctor  is  to  spend  the  night  in  a  revel 
with  the  captain  of  the  Mary  Ann,  and  we  shall 
be  uninterrupted.  Be  an  actor.  Be  a  great  actor, 
Judge.  You  are  to  deal  with  a  soul  which  possesses 
unusual  powers  of  penetration." 

"Do  not  fear !  She  will  be  no  match  for  me,  for 
she  is  innocent — and  when  was  virtue  ever  a  match 
for  vice  ?  She  is  predestined  to  her  doom !  Fare 
well!  Fare-ill,  I  mean,"  he  muttered  under  his 
breath,  as  David  passed  from  the  room. 

He  gazed  after  him  with  his  basilisk  eyes,  drank 
another  glass  of  whisky  and  relapsed  into  reveries. 

The  mind  of  the  lover  was  full  of  tumultuous 
emotions.  On  the  thin  ice  of  his  momentary  joy, 
he  hovered  like  an  inexperienced  skater  over  the 
great  deeps  of  sin  which  were  waiting  to  engulf 
him. 

There  was  still  an  hour  before  the  time  when  he 
would  have  to  take  his  part  in  the  business  of  the 
evening.  He  determined  to  walk  off  his  excite 
ment,  and  chose  the  way  along  the  edge  of  the 
river. 

It  was  now  quite  dark.  The  stars  were  shining  in 
the  sky  and  lamps  were  twinkling  in  the  windows. 
The  streets  were  almost  deserted;  the  citizens,  wear 
ied  with  the  toils  of  the  day,  were  eating  their 
evening  meal,  or  resting  on  the  balconies  and 
porches.  Here  and  there  on  the  surface  of  the 
swift-flowing  river  a  huge  steamer  swept  past, 
or  little  ferry-boats  shot  back  and  forth  like  shut- 


TURNED  TEMPTER  175 

ties.  His  thoughts  composed  a  strangely  blended 
web  of  good  and  evil.  At  the  same  moment  in 
which  he  reiterated  his  resolve  to  prosecute  this 
deed  he  consecrated  himself  to  a  life  of  tenderness 
and  devotion  to  the  woman  whom  he  loved  with 
all  the  energy  of  his  nature!  Of  such  inconsisten 
cies  is  the  soul  capable! 

It  seemed  an  easy  matter  to  him  to  control  the 
august  forces  which  he  was  letting  loose !  He  was 
like  a  little  child  who  wanders  through  a  labora 
tory  uncorking  bottles  and  mixing  explosives. 

Having  regained  his  calmness  by  a  long  walk, 
he  hurried  back  and  reached  the  open  space  along 
the  river  front  where  peddlers,  mountebanks  and 
street  venders  plied  their  crafts,  just  in  time  to  meet 
the  doctor  as  he  drove  up  with  his  horses. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER 

"Thinks  thou  there  are  no  serpents  in  the  world 

But  those  who  slide  along  the  grassy   sod 

And  sting  the  luckless  foot  that  presses  them? 

There  are  those  who  in  the  path  of  social  life 

Do  bask   their   skins   in   Fortune's   sun 

And  sting  the  soul."  —Joanna  Baillie. 

That  evening's  business  was  one  of  unprecedent 
ed  success.  Never  had  the  young  orator  been  so 
brilliant.  All  the  faculties  of  his  mind  seemed 
wrought  up  to  their  highest  pitch  and  all  its  re 
sources  under  perfect  control.  The  boisterous 
crowd  laughed  itself  hoarse  at  his  humor,  wept  itself 
silly  at  his  pathos,  and  laid  its  shekels  at  his  feet. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  such  scenes  and  others  like 
them  have  generated  both  satirists  and  saviors,  and 
that  while  men  like  Savonarola  have  been  ready  to 
die  for  the  redemption  of  such  creatures  other  men, 
like  Juvenal,  have  sneered. 

The  three  companions  returned  to  the  hotel  and 
counted  their  ill-gotten  gains.  Pepeeta  was  sober, 
David  exultant  and  the  doctor  hilarious.  He  pulled 
out  the  ends  of  his  long  black  mustache  to  their 
utmost  limit,  twisted  them  into  ropes,  rubbed  his 
hands  together,  slapped  his  great  thigh  and  laughed 
long  and  loud. 

"David,  my  son,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  have  the 
touch  of  Midas;  g-g-give  us  a  few  years  more  and 

176 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER          17 


.\ 


we  will  outrank  the  fabled  Croesus.  We  shall  yet\ 
be  masters  of  the  world.  We  shall  ride  upon  its 
neck  as  if  it  w-w-were  an  ass!  How  about  the  old 
farm  life  now?  Do  you  want  to  return  to  the 
p-p-plow-tail  ?  Would  you  rather  milk  the  b-b-brin- 
dle  cow  than  the  b-b-bedeviled  people?  This  has 
been  a  g-g-great  night,  and  I  must  go  and  finish 
it  in  the  c-c-cabin  of  the  Mary  Ann  with  the  cap 
tain,  his  mate  and  the  judge.  They  will  know  how 
to  appreciate  it!  Such  a  t-t-triumph  must  not 
allowed  to  p-p-pass  without  a  celebration." 

He  bustled  about  the  room  a  few  moments,  kissed 
his  wife,  shook  hands  with  David  and  hastened 
away. 

After  he  had  vanished,  David  and  Pepeeta  passed 
down  the  long  corridor  and  out  upon  the  balcony  of 
the  old  Spencer  House,  to  the  place  appointed  for 
the  interview  of  the  judge.  The  night  was  bright; 
a  refreshing  breeze  was  blowing  up  from  the  river 
and  the  frequent  intermissions  in  the  gusts  of  wind 
that  swept  over  the  sleeping  city  gave  the  im 
pression  that  Nature  was  holding  her  breath  to 
listen  to  the  tales  of  love  that  were  being  told  on 
city  balconies  and  in  country  lanes.  Under  the 
mysterious  influence  of  the  full  moon,  and  of  the 
silence,  for  the  noises  of  the  city  had  died  away, 
their  imaginations  were  aroused,  their  emotions 
quickened,  their  sensibilities  stirred.  It  seemed 
impossible  that  life  could  be  seriously  real.  Their 
conceptions  of  duty  and  responsibility  were  sub 
limated  into  vague  and  misty  dreams,  and  the  en- 


178  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

joyment  of  the  moment's  fleeting  pleasures  seemed 
the  only  reality  and  end  of  life. 

The  two  lovers  placed  their  chairs  close  to  the 
railing  and  leaning  over  it  looked  down  into  the 
deserted  street  or  off  toward  the  distant  hills  swim 
ming  like  islands  on  a  sea  of  light,  or  up  to  the 
infinite  sky  in  the  immensity  of  which  their  indi 
vidual  being  seemed  to  be  swallowed  up,  or  down 
into  each  other's  eyes,  in  the  depths  of  which  they 
discovered  realities  which  they  had  never  before 
perceived,  and  lost  sight  of  those  in  which  they 
had  always  believed.  For  a  long  time  they  sat  in 
silence.  Afterwards,  there  came  a  few  whispered 
interchanges  of  feeling,  as  the  stillness  of  a  grove 
is  broken  by  gentle  agitations  among  the  leaves, 
and  finally  David  said, 

"Pepeeta,  you  have  long  promised  to  tell  me  all 
you  knew  of  your  early  life;  will  you  do  it  now?" 

"Of  what  possible  interest  can  it  be  to  you?"  she 
asked. 

"It  seems  to  me,"  he  replied,  "that  I  could  linger 
forever  over  the  slightest  detail.  It  is  not  enough 
to  know  what  you  are.  I  wish  to  know  how  you 
came  to  be  what  you  are." 

"You  must  reconcile  yourself  to  ignorance;  the 
origin  of  my  existence  is  lost  in  night." 

"Did  not  the  doctor  discover  anything  at  all  from 
the  people  in  whose  possession  he  found  you  ?" 

"Nothing.  They  kept  silence  like  the  grave.  He 
heard  from  a  gypsy  in  another  camp  that  my  par 
ents  belonged  to  a  noble  family  in  Spain,  and  has 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER          179 

often  said  that  when  he  becomes  very  rich  he 
will  go  with  me  to  my  native  land  c.nd  find  them. 
But  I  believe,  myself,  that  the  veil  will  never  be 
lifted  from  the  past.  I  must  be  content !" 

"But  you  can  tell  me  something  of  that  part 
of  your  childhood  that  you  do  remember?" 

"It  is  too  sad !  I  do  not  want  to  think  of  any 
thing  that  happened  before  I  met  you.  My  life 
began  from  that  moment.  Before,  I  had  only 
dreamed." 

He  was  intoxicated  with  her  beauty  and  her  love ; 
but  he  carried  himself  carefully,  for  he  was  playing 
a  desperate  game  and  must  keep  himself  under 
control. 

"And  do  you  think,"  he  said,  "that  having  awak 
ened  from  this  dream  you  can  ever  fall  asleep 
again?" 

"Can  the  bird  ever  go  back  into  the  shell  or  the 
butterfly  into  the  chrysalis?  No,  no,  it  is  impos 
sible." 

"But  would  you,  if  you  could?" 

"Perhaps  I  ought  to  want  to ;  but  I  cannot." 

"And  do  you  think  that  we  can  drift  on  forever 
as  we  are  going?" 

"I  do  not  know.  I  do  not  dare  to  think.  I  only 
live  from  day  to  day." 

"And  you  still  refuse  to  take  your  future  into 
your  own  hands  ?" 

"It  is  not  mine.  I  must  accept  what  has  been 
appointed." 


l8o  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"And  you  still  believe  that  some  door  will  be 
opened  through  which  we  may  escape  ?" 

"With  all  my  heart." 
'I  wish  I  could  share  your  faith." 

They  ceased  to  speak,  and  sat  silently  gazing 
into  each  other's  faces,  the  heart  of  the  woman  rent 
with  a  conflict  between  desire  and  duty,  that  of  the 
man  by  a  tempest  of  evil  passions.  At  that  mo 
ment,  a  slow  and  heavy  step  was  heard  in  the  hall 
way.  They  looked  toward  the  door,  and  in  the 
shadows  saw  a  man  who  contemplated  them  silently 
for  a  moment  and  then  advanced. 

David  rose  to  meet  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  feigning  embar 
rassment,  "I  had  an  errand  with  the  lady,  and  hoped 
I  should  find  her  alone." 

"You  may  speak,  for  the  gentleman  is  the  friend 
of  my  husband  and  myself,"  Pepeeta  said. 

"I  will  begin,  then,"  he  responded,  "by  asking 
if  you  recognize  me  ?"  And  at  that  he  stepped  out 
into  the  moonlight. 

Pepeeta  gave  him  a  searching  glance  and  ex 
claimed  in  surprise,  "You  are  the  judge  who  mar 
ried  me." 

He  let  his  head  fall  upon  his  breast  with  well- 
assumed  humility,  remained  a  moment  in  silence, 
looked  up  mournfully  and  said,  "I  would  to  God 
that  I  had  really  married  you,  for  then  I  should 
not  have  been  bearing  this  accursed  load  of  guilt 
that  has  been  crushing  me  for  months." 

At  these  words,  Pepeeta  sprang  from  her  seat  and 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER         l8l 

stood  before  him  with  her  hands  clasped  upon  her 
breast. 

"Be  quick!  go  on!"  she  cried,  when  she  had 
waited  in  vain  for  him  to  proceed. 

"Prepare  yourself  for  a  revelation  of  treachery 
and  dishonor.  I  can  conceal  my  crime  no  longer. 
If  I  hold  my  peace  the  very  stones  in  the  street  will 
cry  out  against  me." 

"Make  haste!"  Pepeeta  exclaimed,  imperatively. 

"Madam,"  continued  the  strange  man,  "I  have 
betrayed  you." 

"You  have  betrayed  me?" 

"Yes,  I  have  betrayed  you.  Do  you  understand? 
You  are  not  married  to  your  husband.  I  deceived 
you  as  I  was  bribed  to  do.  I  was  not  a  justice.  I 
had  no  right  to  perform  that  ceremony.  It  was  a 
solemn  farce.  Your  false  lover  desired  to  possess 
the  privileges  without  assuming  the  responsibilities 
of  marriage." 

These  words,  spoken  slowly,  solemnly,  and  with 
a  simulation  of  candor  which  would  have  deceived 
her  even  if  she  had  not  desired  to  believe  them, 
produced  the  most  profound  impression  upon  the 
mind  of  Pepeeta.  She  approached  the  judge  and 
cried:  "Sir,  I  beg  you  in  the  name  of  heaven  not 
to  trifle  with  me !  Is  what  you  have  told  me  true?" 

"Alas,  too  true.'* 

"If  it  is  true,  you  will  say  it  before  the  God  in 
heaven  ?  Raise  your  right  hand !" 

Before  an  appeal  so  solemn  and  a  soul  so  pure  a 
man  less  corrupt  would  have  faltered ;  but  without 


1 82  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

a  moment's  hesitation  this  depraved,  remorseless 
creature  did  as  she  commanded. 

"I  swear  it,"  he  said. 

"Oh !  sir,"  she  cried,  "you  cannot  understand ; 
but  this  is  the  happiest  moment  of  my  life !" 

"Madam?"  he  exclaimed,  interrogatively  and 
with  consummate  art. 

"It  is  not  necessary  for  you  to  know  why,"  she 
answered ;  "but  on  my  knees  I  thank  you." 

He  lifted  her  up.  "What  can  it  mean  ?  I  implore 
you  to  tell  me,"  he  said. 

"Do  not  ask  me!"  she  replied.  "I  cannot  tell 
you  now !  My  heart  is  too  full." 

"But  does  this  mean  that  I  have  nothing  to  re 
gret  and  that  you  have  forgiven  me?" 

"It  does.  For  it  is  against  God  only  you  have 
sinned  !  As  for  myself,  I  bless  you  from  the  bottom 
of  my  heart !" 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  He  took  it  in  his  own 
and  held  it,  looking  first  at  her  and  then  at  David 
with  an  expression  of  such  surprise  as  to  deceive 
his  accomplice  scarcely  less  than  his  victim.  Young, 
inexperienced,  innocent  in  this  sin  at  least,  she 
stood  between  them — helpless. 

It  is  one  thing  for  a  woman  deliberately  to  re 
nounce  her  marriage  vows  to  taste  the  sweets  of 
forbidden  pleasure,  but  quite  another  for  a  heart 
so  loyal  to  duty,  to  be  betrayed  into  crime  by  an 
ingenuity  worthy  of  devils. 

Child  of  misfortune  that  she  was,  victim  of  a 
series  of  untoward  and  fatal  circumstances,  she 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER          183 

had  reason  all  her  life  to  regret  her  credulity ;  but 
never  to  reproach  herself  for  wrong  intentions.  Her 
heart  often  betrayed  her;  but  her  soul  was  never 
corrupted.  She  ought  to  have  been  more  careful — 
alas,  yes,  she  ought — but  she  meant  no  sin. 

Now  that  the  confidence  of  Pepeeta  had  been 
secured,  David's  part  in  this  drama  became  com 
paratively  easy. 

He  listened  to  the  brief  conversation  in  which 
by  a  well-constructed  chain  of  fictitious  reasonings 
the  judge  riveted  upon  the  too  eager  mind  of  the 
child-wife  the  conclusion  that  she  was  free.  When 
this  arch  villain  had  concluded  his  arguments  every 
suspicion  had  vanished  from  her  soul,  and  as  he 
rose  to  depart  she  took  him  by  the  hand  and  bade 
him  a  kindly  and  almost  affectionate  farewell.  "Do 
not  afflict  yourself  with  this  painful  memory,"  she 
said  gently. 

"I  shall  not  need  to  afflict  myself,"  he  replied; 
"my  memory  will  afflict  me,  for  I  am  as  guilty  as  if 
the  result  had  been  what  I  expected ;  and  if  in  the 
coming  years  you  find  a  moment  now  and  then 
in  which  you  can  lift  up  a  prayer  for  a  man  who 
has  forfeited  his  claim  to  mercy,  I  beg  you  to  devote 
it  to  him  who  from  the  depths  of  his  heart  wishes 
you  joy.  Good-bye." 

With  many  assurances  of  her  pardon,  Pepeeta 
followed  him  to  the  door  and  bade  him  farewell. 

When  she  returned  to  David  her  face  was  lumin 
ous  with  happiness,  and  although  he  had  begun 
already  to  experience  a  reaction  and  to  suffer  re- 


184  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

morse  for  his  successful  infamy,  it  was  only  like 
a  drop  of  poison  in  the  ocean  of  his  joy. 

"Did  I  not  tell  you  that  all  would  be  well?"  she 
cried,  approaching  him  and  extending  both  her 
hands.  "But  how  sudden  and  how  strange  it  is. 
It  is  too  good  to  be  true.  I  cannot  realize  that  I 
am  free.  I  am  like  a  little  bird  that  hops  about  its 
cage,  peeps  through  the  door  which  its  mistress' 
hand  has  opened,  and  knows  not  what  to  think.  It 
wishes  to  go;  but  it  is  frightened.  What  shall  it 
do,  David?  Tell  it!  Shall  it  fly?" 

"I  also  am  too  bewildered  to  act  and  almost  too 
bewildered  to  think,"  he  said  with  unaffected  ex 
citement  and  anxiety,  for  now  that  the  time  and 
opportunity  for  him  to  take  so  momentous  a  step 
had  come,  his  heart  failed  him.  It  was  only  with 
the  most  violent  effort  and  under  a  most  pressing 
necessity  that  he  pulled  himself  together  and  con 
tinued, 

"The  little  bird  must  fly,  and  its  mate  must  fly 
with  it.  There  are  too  few  hours  before  daylight 
and  we  must  not  lose  a  single  one.  But  are  you 
sure  that  you  are  quite  ready?  Is  your  mind  made 
up?  Will  you  go  with  me  trustfully?  Will  you 
accept  whatever  the  future  has  in  store?" 

She  took  him  in  her  strong  young  arms,  printed 
her  first  kiss  upon  his  lips,  and  said:  "I  will  go 
with  you  to  the  ends  of  the  earth !  I  will  go  with 
you  through  water  and  through  fire !  The  future 
cannot  bring  me  anything  from  which  I  shall  shrink, 
^  if  it  lets  us  meet  it  hand  in  hand!" 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER          185 

Silently  and  swiftly  they  gathered  together  the 
few  necessities  of  a  sudden  journey,  stole  out  of  the 
quiet  building  and  hurried  away  to  a  livery  stable. 
In  a  few  moments  they  were  rattling  down  the 
rough  cobble-stone  pavement  to  the  river.  The 
ferryman,  who  had  been  retained  for  this  very  pur 
pose,  pretended  to  be  asleep.  They  aroused  him, 
drove  onto  the  platform  of  his  primitive  craft  and 
floated  out  upon  the  stream.  As  the  boat  swung 
clear  of  the  shore  they  heard  music  issuing  from 
the  cabin  windows  of  a  steamer  under  whose  stern 
they  were  passing.  It  was  the  "Mary  Ann."  They 
listened.  The  music  ceased  for  a  moment  and 
a  deep  voice  called  out  "B-b-bravo!  Another 
song!" 

They  recognized  it  instantly,  and  Pepeeta  pressed 
close  to  the  side  of  her  lover. 

"You  hear  it  for  the  last  time,"  he  whispered. 

"Thank  God,"  she  said. 

That  name  uttered  in  the  darkness  of  the  night 
startled  him.  The  idea  that  he  had  cast  a  shuttle 
of  crime  into  the  great  loom  upon  which  the  fabric 
of  his  life  was  being  woven,  took  complete  posses 
sion  of  his  mind.  With  unerring  prescience,  he  saw 
that  it  began  to  be  entangled  in  the  mysterious 
meshes.  A  consciousness  that  he  was  no  longer 
the  master  but  the  victim  of  his  destiny  seized  him 
and  he  shuddered.  Pepeeta  perceived  the  shud 
der  through  the  arm  which  embraced  her. 

"You  are  cold,  my  love,"  she  said. 

"My  joy  has  made  me  tremble,"  he  replied. 


1 86  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

She  pressed  the  hand  which  was  holding  hers 
and  looked  up  into  his  face  with  ineffable  love. 

The  swift  current  seized  the  boat,  twisting  it 
hither  and  thither  till  it  seemed  to  the  now  tremb 
ling  fugitive  a  symbol  of  the  stream  of  tendencies 
upon  which  he  had  launched  the  frail  bark  con 
taining  their  united  lives. 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  strong  enough  to  stem  it?"  he 
asked  himself. 

Pepeeta  continued  to  press  his  hand  and  that 
gentle  sign  of  love  revived  his  drooping  courage. 
Perhaps  there  is  no  other  act  so  full  of  reassuring 
power  as  the  pressure  of  a  human  hand.  Neither 
a  glance  from  the  eye  nor  a  \vord  from  the 
lips  can  equal  it.  The  fainting  pilgrim,  the 
departing  friend,  the  discouraged  toiler,  the 
returning  prodigal  welcome  it  beyond  all  other 
symbols  of  helpfulness  or  love,  and  the  dying  saint 
who  leans  the  hardest  on  the  "rod  and  the  staff  of 
God"  as  he  goes  down  into  the  dark  valley  finds  a 
comfort  scarcely  less  sweet  in  the  warm  clasp  of  a, 
human  hand.  Just  as  the  courage  of  this  daring 
navigator  of  the  sea  of  crime  had  been  restored  by 
this  signal  of  his  loved  one's  trust,  the  boat  grated 
on  the  beach. 

"Can  we  find  a  minister  who  will  marry  us  at 
this  time  of  night?"  David  said  to  the  ferryman, 
although  he  had  been  careful  to  ask  this  question 
before. 

"Two  blocks  south  and  three  east,  second  door 


THE  SNARE  OF  THE  FOWLER          187 

on  the  right  hand  side,"  he  answered  laconically,  as 
he  received  the  fare. 

Such  adventurers  passed  often  through  his  hands 
and  their  ways  were  nothing  new. 

The  fugitives  drove  hurriedly  to  the  designated 
house,  knocked  at  the  door,  were  admitted  and  in 
a  few  moments  the  final  act  which  sealed  their  fate 
had  been  performed. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 
THE  DERELICTS 

"Born   but   to  banquet  and   to   drain   the   bov.-l." 

—Homer. 

The  "Mary  Ann"  had  just  returned  from  a  trip 
to  New  Orleans,  and  while  waiting  for  her  cargo 
lay  moored  at  the  foot  of  Broadway.  As  the  quack 
ascended  her  gang-plank  the  captain  and  mate  rose 
to  greet  him.  There  was  not  on  the  entire  river, 
where  so  many  extraordinary  characters  have  been 
evolved,  a  more  remarkable  pair. 

The  captain  was  five  feet  four  inches  in  height, 
round,  ruddy,  mellow  and  jocund.  A  complete  ab 
sence  or  suppression  of  moral  sense,  together  with 
health  as  perfect  as  an  animal's,  had  rendered  him 
insensible  to  all  the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous 
fortune.  He  had  never  shed  a  tear  save  in  exces 
sive  laughter,  and  sorrow  had  never  yet  struck  a 
dart  through  the  armor  of  fat  in  which  he  was 
sheathed. 

The  mate  was  his  counterpart  and  foil.  Six  feet 
and  three  inches  tall,  he  was  long-legged,  lantern- 
jawed  and  goggle-eyed.  Bilious  in  his  constitu 
tion,  he  was  melancholic  in  his  temperament,  had 
been  crossed  in  love  and  soured  at  twenty,  be 
trayed  and  bankrupted  at  thirty,  and  at  forty  had 
turned  his  back  upon  the  world,  forswearing  all 

188 


THE  DERELICTS  189 

its  amusements  but  those  of  the  table,  which  his 
poor  digestion  made  more  painful  than  pleasurable, 
all  of  its  ambitions  but  those  of  getting  money 
and  all  friendships  but  those  of  the  captain,  to 
whom  he  was  attached  like  a  limpet  to  a  rock. 

Such  were  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  two 
worthies  who  rose  from  their  deck-stools  to  meet 
the  doctor  as  he  rolled  up  the  gangway. 

"Howdy,  doctor?"  said  the  mate,  in  the  peculiar 
drawling  vernacular  of  the  poor  whites  of  the  south, 
extending  a  hand  as  cold  and  hard  as  an  anchor. 

"Welcome,  prince  of  quacks !  For  a  man  who 
has  made  so  many  others  walk  the  plank  with  poi 
son  drugs,  you  do  it  but  poorly  yourself,"  cried  the 
captain,  merrily. 

"You  will  d-d-draw  your  last  breath  with  a  joke, 
as  a  d-d-drunkard  sips  his  last  drop  with  a  sigh," 
responded  the  doctor. 

"The  captain  was  born  with  the  corners  of  his 
mouth  turned  up  like  a  dead  man's  toes,"  drawled 
the  lugubrious  mate. 

"Where  is  the  judge?"  asked  the  doctor,  hitting 
the  captain  a  hearty  slap  on  the  back. 

"He  will  be  here  a  little  later,"  the  host  replied. 

The  three  boon  companions  seated  themselves 
by  the  gunwale  of  the  vessel,  basking  in  the  mellow 
light  of  the  moon  and  quaffing  the  liquor  which  a 
negro  brought  them. 

While  they  were  drinking  and  recalling  the  many 
revels  which  they  had  held  together,  an  hour  passed 
by,  and  at  its  close  a  form  was  seen  coming  leis- 


190  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

urely  down  the  sloping  bank  of  the  river.  It  was 
the  justice  of  the  peace,  come  to  make  merry  with 
the  husband  of  the  woman  he  had  just  betrayed. 
Upon  that  cynical  countenance  a  close  observer 
might  have  noted  even  in  the  pale  light  of  the  moon 
an  expression  of  sardonic  pleasure  when  he  returned 
the  hearty  greetings  with  which  his  coming  was 
hailed. 

"I  am  sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,"  he  said. 

"We  have  all  the  b-b-better  appetite,"  responded 
tbe  doctor. 

If,  as  the  old  saw  says,  the  time  to  eat  is  when 
the  stomach  rings  the  bell,  I  am  ready!"  the  cap 
tain  piped,  in  his  high-pitched  voice. 

1  Diogenes  being  asked  what  time  a  man  ought 
to  eat,  responded,  The  rich,  when  he  is  hungry, 
and  the  poor,  when  he  has  food,'  "  said  the  judge, 
whose  mind  threw  up  old  scraps  of  classical  knowl 
edge  as  the  ocean  throws  up  shells. 

"As  for  hunger,  my  appetite  is  sharper  than  a 
scythe;  but  my  indigestion  is  duller  than  a  whet 
stone,"  said  the  mate,  to  whom  a  feast  was  always 
prophetic  of  subsequent  fasting. 

"Good  digestion  waits  on  appetite;  but  waits 
too  long,  eh  ?"  the  judge  replied. 

The  captain  led  the  way  to  the  cabin.  It 
was  a  low,  dingy  room,  but  ruddy  with  the  light 
of  a  dozen  tallow  candles.  On  the  table  was  spread 
a  feast  that  would  have  tempted  the  palates  of  the 
epicures  who  gathered  about  the  festive  board  of 
the  immortal  Lucullus.  There  was  neither  art  nor 


THE  DERELICTS  191 

display  in  the  accompaniments  of  the  food,  but 
every  luxury  that  an  ample  market  could  supply  had 
been  prepared  by  a  cook  who  could  have  won  im 
mortality  in  a  Paris  restaurant,  and  the  finest 
whisky  that  could  be  distilled  in  old  Kentucky,  the 
rarest  wines  that  could  be  imported  from  the  Rhine 
or  from  sunny  Italian  slopes,  were  ready  to  flow. 

Four  slaves  received  the  banqueters  and  then 
took  their  places  behind  the  chairs  at  the 
table.  The  captain's  face  was  shining  like  a 
full  moon;  the  doctor's  was  swarthy,  sinister 
and  piratical ;  the  judge's  possessed  the  dignity  of 
a  splendid  ruin ;  the  mate's  was  haunted  by  an  ex 
pression  of  unsatisfied  and  insatiable  desire.  Ob 
serving  it  and  calling  the  attention  of  the  others, 
the  justice  remarked,  "Like  the  old  Romans,  we 
have  a  skeleton  at  our  table  to  remind  us  of  death." 

"You  would  look  like  death  yourself  if  you  had 
to  sit  staring  at  these  bounties  like  a  muzzled  dog 
in  a  market,"  snarled  the  mate. 

"Be  like  the  dyspeptic  who  was  about  to  beXv 
hanged,"  said  the  doctor.    "The  sheriff  asked  him 
to  make  his  last  request.    'I  will  have  a  dozen  hot 
waffles  well  b-b-buttered ;   and  let  there  be  a  full 
dozen,  for  I  shall  not  suffer  from  the  cramps  t-t-this/ 
time/  says  he." 

The  first  few  courses  of  the  feast  were  eaten  in 
almost  uninterrupted  silence ;  but  as  the  keen  edge 
of  their  appetites  became  a  little  dulled,  the  tongues 
of  the  banqueters  were  unloosed  and  a  torrent  of 
talk  began  to  flow,  interlarded  with  oaths  and  stories 


THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

of  a  more  than  questionable  character.  Corks 
popped  from  bottles  with  loud  explosions,  the 
darkies  greeted  the  sallies  of  wit  with  boisterous 
laughter  and  surreptitiously  emptied  the  glasses. 

The  fun  grew  fast  and  furious,  the  thoughts  of 
the  revelers  flowing  in  the  usual  channels  of  such 
feasts.  At  a  certain  pitch  of  this  wild  frenzy,  a  de 
sire  for  music  invariably  recurs  and  so  at  a  signal 
from  the  captain  the  slaves  who  performed  the  func 
tions  of  deck-hands,  waiters  or  musicians  as  the 
exigencies  of  the  occasion  demanded,  brought  in 
their  musical  instruments  and  the  rafters  were  soon 
ringing  with  their  simple  melodies  to  the  accompa 
niment  of  banjos  and  guitars.  The  deep  rich  voices 
blended  harmoniously  with  the  tingle  of  the 
stringed  instruments  and  the  clicking  of  the  bones. 
Plantation  songs  were  followed  by  revival  hymns, 
and  these  by  coarse  and  licentious  ditties.  At  a 
second  stage  of  every  orgie,  desire  for  the  dance  is 
kindled  by  music,  and  so,  at  the  command  of  their 
master,  two  of  the  slaves  began  to  execute  a 
"double  shuffle." 

The  clatter  and  the  beating  of  negro  feet  to  the 
accompaniment  of  the  banjo  and  the  bones,  and  the 
shouting  of  the  spectators  gave  vent  to  the  bois 
terous  emotions  of  the  revelers.  Even  the  melan 
choly  mate  caught  the  enthusiasm,  and  for  a  time 
at  least  forgot  his  misery.  Of  them  all,  the  judge 
alone  preserved  his  gravity.  He  sat  looking  un 
moved  at  these  wild  antics,  and  murmured  to  him* 
self: 


THE  DERELICTS  193 

"If  music  be  the  food  of  love,  play  on. 
Give  me  excess  of  it,  that,  surfeiting, 
The  appetite  may  sicken  and  so  die. 
That  strain  again!    It  had  a  dying  fall. 
O,  it  came  o'er  my  eai  like  the  sweet  sound 
That  breathes  upon  a  bank  of  violets 
Stealing  and  giving  odor." 


he  sigm\ 
>.  It  was  \ 


Nothing  could  be  more  horrible  than  the 
of  this  gifted  man  herding  with  these  beasts, 
like  a  lion  devouring  carrion  with  wolves.  Aside 
from  the  pleasure  of  the  palate,  his  enjoyment  of 
the  scene  was  derived  from  the  cynical  contempt 
with  which  he  regarded  it.  Having  descended  to 
the  lowest  depths  of  human  degradation,  he  had 
arrived  at  a  point  where  he  drew  his  keenest  relish 
from  the  inconsistencies,  the  absurdities  and  the 
sufferings  of  his  fellow-men.  In  order  that  he 
might  behold  a  scene  in  which  all  the  elements  of 
the  horribly  grotesque  were  combined,  he  deter 
mined  to  provoke  the  egotism  and  complacency 
of  the  quack  to  the  very  highest  activity  at  this 
moment  when  his  fortunes  and  his  hopes  were  be 
ing  undermined. 

After  the  excitement  of  the  dance  had  abated, 
the  concluding  phase  of  all  such  orgies  came  in  its 
inevitable  sequence,  and  they  began  to  drink  great 
bumpers  to  each  other's  health.  After  all  had  been 
pledged,  the  judge  proposed  a  toast  to  the  "gypsy 
bride." 

The  tongue  of  the  quack  was  loosened  in  an  in 
stant  and  he  poured  forth  an  extravagant  eulogy 
of  her  beauty  and  her  devotion. 

"If  she  were  mine,  I  should  be  on  the  ragged 


194  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

edge  with  jealousy  every  hour  of  the  day  and 
night,"  said  the  judge,  as  they  set  their  glasses 
down. 

"Y-y-you'd  have  reason  to !  B-b-but  I'm  a  horse 
of  a  different  c-c-color,  old  boy !  W-w-women  have 
p-p-preferences,"  the  doctor  replied,  pulling  out 
the  ends  of  his  mustache  and  winking  at  the  cap 
tain  and  his  mate,  who  stupidly  nodded  their  ap 
preciation  of  the  hit. 

"When  honeysuckles  close  their  petals  to  hum 
mingbirds,  Venus  will  shut  the  door  on  Adonis," 
responded  the  judge,  draining  his  glass  and  smil 
ing  into  its  depths. 

The  quack  was  too  far  gone  in  his  cups  to  com 
prehend  or  even  to  be  curious  as  to  the  significance 
of  this  sneer  and  went  on  sounding  his  own  virtues 
and  Pepeeta's  beauty  while  the  judge  provoked 
him  to  the  fullest  exhibition  of  his  colossal  vanity. 
He  took  a  sinister  delight  in  drawing  him  out. 
It  was  the  pleasure  of  a  cat  playing  with  the 
mouse,  which  it  is  about  to  devour,  or  of  sav 
ages  mocking  the  man  who  is  about  to  run  the 
gauntlet.  He  exulted  in  the  contrast  of  this  proud 
man's  present  confidence,  and  the  humiliation 
which  awaited  him  within  the  next  few  hours. 

The  quack  was  an  easy  victim.  His  career  of 
prosperity  had  met  with  but  a  single  serious  inter 
ruption  and  he  had  so  entirely  forgotten  his  dan 
gerous  sickness  in  his  perfect  health  that  he  was 
seldom  troubled  by  foreboding  as  to  the  future. 
Never  had  he  possessed  more  confidence  of  life 


THE  DERELICTS  195 

than  at  the  very  moment  when  all  his  hopes,  all  his 
confidence,  all  his  faith,  were  about  to  be  shattered. 

Our  misfortunes  draw  a  train  of  shadows  behind 
them ;  but  they  often  project  a  glowing  light  be 
fore  them.  Sickness  is  often  preceded  by  the  most 
bounding  health,  failure  by  unexampled  success, 
misery  by  irrepressible  emotions  of  exultation.  Too 
bright  a  sunshine  as  well  as  too  dark  a  shadow 
is  often  the  herald  of  a  storm  upon  the  sea  of  life. 

But  ebullitions  of  happiness  and  confidence  did 
not  excite  the  apprehension  of  the  quack.  Each 
bumper  of  wine  was  followed  by  a  new  outburst  of 
vanity.  The  captain  and  the  mate  had  already  suc 
cumbed  to  the  potent  influence  of  the  liquors  which 
they  had  been  drinking,  and  amidst  his  maudlin 
speeches  the  quack's  tongue  was  becoming  hope 
lessly  tangled. 

The  judge  was  as  sober  as  at  the  beginning  of 
the  feast  and  with  a  smile  upon  his  lips  in  which 
cynicism  was  incarnate,  waited  until  the  doctor 
had  just  begun  to  snore  and  then  aroused  him  by 
another  question. 

"Who  is  this  paragon  of  virtue  to  whom  you  so 
confidently  trust  the  chastity  of  your  wife  ?" 

"This  w-w-what?" 

'This  paragon  of  virtue — this  ice-cold  Adonis?" 

"Say  whatcher  mean." 

"Who  is  this  pure  young  man  with  whom  the 
beautiful  Pepeeta  is  so  safe?  What  is  it  you  call 
him,  David  Crocker?" 

"  Tain't  his  real  name." 


196  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"What  is  his  real  name?" 

"D'nlevert-t-tellyou?" 

"No." 

"Real  name's  C-C-Corson — David  Corson." 

"What?"  cried  the  judge,  springing  to  his  feet. 

"C-C-Corson — I  tell  you,"  stuttered  the  quack, 
too  drunk  to  notice  the  peculiar  effect  of  his  an 
nouncement. 

"What  do  you  know  about  him?"  the  judge 
asked  with  ill-suppressed  excitement. 

"Keep  still — wan'  go  sleep." 

"Wake  up  and  tell  me  what  you  know  about  him, 
I  say." 

"He'  Squaker." 

"A  Quaker?" 

"Yes,  Squaker." 

"'Great  heavens!"  speaking  under  his  breath  and 
trembling  visibly.  "What  else  do  you  know?" 

"Illegitimate  child." 

"What?"  passing  around  the  table,  seizing  him 
by  the  collar  and  shaking  him,  "Say  that  again." 

"  'S  true— s'  help  me  !    What  you  c-c-care  ?" 

"How  do  you  know  he  is  an  illegitimate  child — I 
say?" 

"I  know — that's  nuf !  Sh'tup  and  lemme  g-g-go 
sleep." 

"Tell  me,  curse  you!  shaking  him  until  his  teeth 
rattled. 

He  was  too  far  gone  to  answer  and  fell  under 
the  table.  The  judge  kicked  him,  and  with  a  mut* 
tered  curse  took  up  a  glass  of  whisky,  and  tossing 


THE  DERELICTS  197 

it  down  his  throat,  hurriedly  left  the  cabin,  and  be 
gan  to  pace  the  deck  in  violent  agitation. 

This  man  who  had  so  ruthlessly  set  a  pitfall  for 
his  neighbor  had  suddenly  tumbled  into  one  which 
retributive  justice  had  dug  deep  for  himself  1 

"It  must  be  true,"  he  was  saying.  "It  accounts 
for  the  strange  feeling  I  had  toward  him  when  he 
asked  me  to  help  him  do  that  infernal  deed.  I 
could  not  understand  it  then,  but  it  is  plain  enough 
now.  He  is  my  son !  And  I  have  not  only  trans 
mitted  a  tainted  life  to  him,  but  helped  to  damn  him 
in  its  possession!  God!  what  irony!  Of  course  the 
quack  never  knew  that  I,  too,  am  living  under  a 
false  name!  I  wonder  if  it  is  too  late  to  stop  him? 
Yes— it's  done,  and  he  is  miles  away!  It's  almost 
daybreak  now!  Whewwwh!  It's  horrible!" 

He  dashed  his  clenched  fist  on  the  railing  of  the 
vessel.  While  he  stood  there,  his  mind  ran  back 
into  the  past.  He  lived  over  again  those  passionate 
days  when  he  had  won  and  betrayed  a  young,  beau 
tiful,  impressionable  girl.  His  heart  beat  with  a 
swifter  stroke  as  he  remembered  the  excitement 
of  their  hurried  flight  from  her  parents,  and 
the  wild  joy  of  their  adventurous  lives,  and  then 
sank  again  to  its  steady,  hopeless  throb  as  he  re 
called  her  penitence  and  misery  after  the  birth  of 
the  boy,  his  consenting  to  marry  her,  the  ceremony, 
the  respite  from  self-reproach,  the  few  happy 
months,  the  relapse  into  old  bad  habits,  the  sobered 
mother  becoming  a  devout  and  faithful  member  of 
a  Quaker  church,  his  disgust  at  this,  his  quarrels 


198  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

with  her  and  finally  his  desertion  of  her.  And  then 
the  whole  subsequent  series  of  adventures  and  dis 
asters  passed  before  him — a  moving  panorama  of 
dishonor  and  crime!  He  paced  the  deck  again; 
then  he  paused  and  leaned  over  the  gunwale,  list 
ening  to  the  water  lapping  the  sides  of  the  vessel. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  astonishing  to  him 
than  the  sudden  activity  of  his  conscience.  It  had 
been  so  long  since  he  had  experienced  remorse  that 
he  believed  himself  incapable  of  it.  But  suddenly 
a  fierce  and  unendurable  pang  seized  him.  To 
a  man  who  had  been  long  accustomed  to  feel 
ing  nothing  in  the  contemplation  of  his  deeds, 
but  a  dull  consciousness  of  unworthiness,  this  sharp 
and  terrible  attack  of  shame  and  guilt  was  start 
ling  indeed.  He  could  not  understand  it.  The  pain 
seemed  disproportionate  to  the  sin;  but  he  could 
not  resist  the  repugnance  and  horror  with  which 
it  filled  him !  And  this  is  an  element  in  the  moral 
life  with  which  bad  men  forget  to  deal !  Because 
/  conscience  ceases  to  remonstrate  and  remorse  to 
torment,  they  think  the  exemption  permanent. 
They  do  not  know  that  at  any  moment,  in  some  un 
foreseen  emergency — this  abused  faculty  of  the  soul 
may  spring  into  renewed  life.  This  elemental  power, 
this  primal  endowment,  can  no  more  be  perma 
nently  dissociated  from  the  soul  than  heat  from 
fire!  It  may  smoulder  unobserved,  but  a  breath 
will  fan  it  into  flame !  Without  it,  the  soul  would 
cease  to  be  a  soul;  its  permanent  eradica 
tion  would  be  equivalent  to  annihilation!  If 


THE  DERELICTS  199 

conscience  can  be  eliminated,  man  has  noth 
ing  to  brag  of  over  a  tadpole!  We  are  no 
more  safe  from  it  than  from  memory !  Who  can  be 
sure  that  what  he  has  forgotten  has  ceased  to  sur 
vive  ?  The  sweet  perfume  of  a  violet  may  revive  a 
bitter  memory  dormant  for  fifty  years !  At  a  word, 
a  look,  a  glance,  conscience — abused,  suppressed, 
despised,  inoperative — may  rise  in  all  her  majesty 
and  fill  the  heart  with  torment  and  despair ! 

This  corrupted  judge,  this  faithless  lover,  this 
dishonorable  parent,  had  become  accustomed  to 
dull  misery ;  but  this  fierce  onslaught  of  an  aveng 
ing  sense  of  personal  unworthiness  and  dread  of 
divine  justice  was  more  than  he  could  bear.  Life 
had  long  since  lost  its  charms  and  he  had  more 
than  once  seriously  contemplated  suicide. 

"There  seems  to  be  no  use  in  trying  to  beat 
nature  in  any  other  way,  and  so  I  will  try  the  der 
nier  resort,"  he  said  aloud.  Opening  his  pocket 
knife,  he  cut  a  piece  of  rope  from  the  flagstaff, 
looked  around,  found  a  heavy  bar  of  iron,  and  fas 
tened  rope  and  weight  together.  In  one  end  of  the 
rope  he  made  a  noose,  slipped  it  over  his  neck,  ap 
proached  the  railing  and  leaned  upon  it  to  reflect. 
His  mind  now  went  back  into  the  still  more  remote 
past ;  he  was  a  boy  again,  and  at  his  mother's  knee. 
Half  audibly  and  half  unconsciously,  he  began  mur 
muring,  "Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep,  I  pray — no — 
I'll  be  consistent,"  he  added,  with  a  sigh.  "I  have 
lived  without  the  mummery  of  prayer,  and  I  will 
die  without  it." 


200  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

And  then  by  one  of  those  strange  freaks  of  the 
mind  that  make  people  do  the  most  absurd 
things  at  the  most  sacred  times — mourners  laugh 
at  funerals,  and  soldiers  in  the  thick  of  battles  long 
for  puddings — he  began  to  say  over  that  old  dog 
gerel  which  he  used  to  repeat  when  shivering  on 
the  spring-board  over  the  cold  waters  of  the  Hud 
son  river : 

"One,  two,  three,  the  bumble  bee, 
The  rooster  crows  and  away  she  goes!" 

The  absurdity  of  so  trivial  a  memory  at  such  a 
serious  moment  excited  his  sense  of  humor,  and 
he  smiled. 

By  this  time  the  violence  of  his  remorse  had 
begun  to  subside  and  proved  to  be  only  a  fitful, 
fleeting  protest  of  that  abused  and  neglected  moral 
sense.  Something  more  terrible  than  even  this  dis 
covery  of  the  wrong  done  to  his  own  son  would 
have  to  come.  There  was  plenty  of  time !  Nature 
was  in  no  haste !  This  was  only  a  warning,  a  little 
danger  signal. 

By  a  short,  swift  revulsion,  his  feelings  changed 
from  horror  to  indifference.  "After  all,  why  should 
I  care  ?"  he  said.  "The  boy  is  nothing  to  me,  and 
at  any  rate  he  would  have  gained  his  end  in  some 
other  way.  Let  him  have  his  fling;  I  have  had 
mine.  If  he  didn't  break  that  old  impostor's  heart, 
he  would  probably  break  a  better  one!  And  as  for 
the  gypsy — it's  only  a  question  of  who  and  when. 
What  a  fool  I  have  made  of  myself!  Who  would 
believe  that  such  a  trifle  could  give  rne  such  a 


THE  DERELICTS  201 

shock?  There  is  something  to  live  for  yet.  I  must 
see  what  sort  of  a  face  the  quack  makes  when  he 
takes  his  medicine  to-morrow." 

He  threw  the  iron  weight  into  the  water,  entered 
the  cabin,  took  another  drink,  smiled  contempt 
uously  at  the  drunken  wretches  under  the  table, 
crossed  the  deck,  descended  the  gang-plank  and 
climbed  the  steep  path  to  the  city. 

Against  his  inheritance  from  such  a  nature  as 
this,  the  young  mystic  had  to  make  his  life  struggle. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH 

"There  are  moral  as  well  as  physical  assassinations." 

—Voltaire. 

When  he  awoke  the  next  morning,  the  poor 
bedeviled  doctor  crawled  back  to  the  hotel  as  best 
he  could,  his  head  throbbing  with  pain,  his  wits 
dull  and  his  temper  wild.  Stumbling-  up  the  long 
flight  of  stairs  which  seemed  to  him  to  reach  the 
sky,  he  burst  open  his  door  and  entered  the  room. 
It  was  empty.  The  bed  had  not  been  occupied. 
Pepeeta  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

It  took  him  some  moments  to  comprehend  that 
he  did  not  comprehend.  Then  he  called,  "Pepeeta ! 
Pepeeta!" 

The  silence  at  first  bewildered,  then  aroused  him. 
and  crossing  the  corridor  he  entered  David's  room. 
It,  too,  was  empty.  He  was  now  thoroughly  aston 
ished  and  awake.  Recrossing  the  hall  he  once 
more  entered  his  room  and  began  in  earnest  to  seek 
an  explanation  of  this  mystery.  It  did  not  take  him 
long,  for  on  the  table  were  lying  the  jewels  in 
which  he  had  invested  his  profits  and  which  he  had 
confided  to  Pepeeta — and  beside  them  a  piece  of 
paper  on  which  he  slowly  spelled  out  these  startling 
words : 

"I  have  discovered  your  treachery  and  fled." 

"PEPEETA." 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  203 

He  drew  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  took  a  piece 
of  his  cheek  between  his  thumb  and  first  finger  and 
pinched  it  to  see  if  he  were  awake,  then  read  the 
words  again,  this  time  aloud:  "I  have  discovered 
your  treachery  and  fled.  Pepeeta."  "Treachery?" 
he  said.  "What  t-t-treachery?  Whose  t-t-treach- 
ery  ?  Fled  ?  Fled  with  whom,  fled  where  ?  I  won 
der  if  I  am  still  d-d-drunk  ?" 

Laying  the  paper  down,  he  went  to  the  wash- 
stand,  filled  the  bowl  with  water,  plunged  his  head 
into  it  and  expected  to  find  that  he  had  been  suf 
fering  some  sort  of  hallucination.  But  when  he 
returned  to  the  table  and  again  took  up  the  missive, 
the  same  words  stared  him  in  the  face. 

At  last,  and  almost  with  the  rapidity  of  a  stroke 
of  lightning,  the  whole  mystery  solved  itself.  It 
flashed  upon  his  mind  that  Pepeeta  had  abandoned 
him,  and  in  company  with  the  man  he  had  so  im 
plicitly  trusted.  The  serpent  he  had  nourished  in 
his  bosom  had  at  last  stung  him !  Tearing  the 
paper  into  shreds,  and  stamping  upon  the  floor,  he 
cursed  and  raved. 

"I  see  it  all,"  he  cried.  "Fool,  ass,  bat,  mole! 
Curse  me !  Yes,  curse  me !  But  curse  them  also  ! 
Oh !  G-G-God,  help  me  to  avenge  this  wrong !" 

As  soon  as  a  God  is  necessary  to  the  atheist  he 
invents  one,  and  in  a  single  instant  this  hopeless 
skeptic  had  become  a  firm  believer  in  the  Deity.  It 
seemed  for  a  few  moments  as  if  his  passions  would 
destroy  him  by  their  internal  violence;  but  their 
first  ebullition  was  soon  expended  and  he  began  to 


204  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

grow  calm.  The  electric  fires  of  his  anger  were  no 
longer  permitted  to  play  at  random,  but  were  gath 
ered  up  into  a  thunderbolt  to  be  hurled  at  his  foe; 
this  half-crazed  man  suddenly  became  as  cool 
and  calculating  as  he  was  desperate  and  determined. 

A  purpose  shaped  itself  instantly  in  his  mind, 
and  he  began  its  execution  without  delay.  He  made 
no  confidant,  took  no  advice ;  but  having  smoothed 
his  ruffled  clothing  and  combed  his  disheveled  hair 
so  as  to  excite  no  comment  and  provoke  no  ques 
tion,  he  passed  through  the  hotel  corridor  and 
office,  greeting  his  acquaintances  with  his  accus 
tomed  ease,  and  made  his  way  to  the  livery  stable. 
He  went  at  once  to  the  stalls  where  his  famous  team 
was  accustomed  to  stand,  and  to  his  astonishment 
and  delight  found  his  horses  both  there. 

"Tom,"  he  said  to  the  hostler,  "did  you  hire  a 
horse  and  b-b-buggy  to  a  young  couple  last  night?" 

"I  did  not,"  answered  the  surly  groom. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,"  said  the  doctor  in  a  voice 
that  made  every  word  sound  like  the  crack  of  a  rifle. 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?"  asked  the  stable 
man,  trying  to  appear  indignant  and  innocent. 

"You're  a  1-1-liar,  and  I  am  in  no  mood  for 
trifling.  Out  with  it,  you  scoundrel!"  he  cried^ 
seizing  him  by  the  throat. 

With  a  sign  of  terror  the  groom  indicated  his 
readiness  to  corne  to  terms,  and  the  doctor  relaxed 
his  grip. 

Still  trembling,  he  told  the  truth. 

"Do  you  know  which  road  they  took  ?" 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  2O5 

He  waved  his  hand  toward  Kentucky, 

"Put  a  saddle  on  Hamlet — no,  on  Romeo/'  he 
ordered,  tersely. 

The  groom  entered  a  box  stall  and  led  out  the 
black  beauty.  The  doctor  glanced  him  over  and 
smiled.  And  well  he  might,  for  every  muscle, 
every  motion  betokened  speed,  intelligence,  endur 
ance. 

The  pursuer  made  a  single  stop  on  his  way  to  the 
river  and  that  was  at  a  gun  store,  from  which  he 
emerged  carrying  a  pair  of  saddle  bags  on  his  arm. 
In  the  holsters  were  two  loaded  pistols, 

He  smiled  as  he  mounted,  having  already  con 
summated  vengeance  in  his  heart.  Once  across  the 
river  and  safe  upon  the  Louisville  pike,  he  loosened 
the  reins.  The  horse,  whose  sympathetic  heart  had 
already  been  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  his  rider, 
shook  his  long  black  mane,  plunged  forward  and 
pounded  along  the  hard  turnpike.  His  hoof- 
beats — sharp,  sonorous,  rhythmical — seemed  to  be 
crying  for  vengeance;  for  hoof-beats  have  a  lan 
guage,  and  always  utter  the  thoughts  of  a  rider. 

Now  that  he  was  well  on  his  way  the  outraged 
husband  had  time  to  reflect,  and  the  past  few 
months  rose  vividly  before  him.  He  saw  his 
own  folly  and  did  not  spare  himself  in  his  condem 
nation  ;  but  this  folly  did  not  for  an  instant  modify 
the  guilt  of  the  two  fugitives.  Every  moment  his 
injuries  seemed  more  colossal,  more  unpardonable, 
more  unendurable.  He  had  been  wounded  in 
his  affections  and  also  in  his  vanity,  which  was  far 


206  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

more  dreadful,  and  an  agonizing  thirst  for  ven 
geance  overpowered  him. 

The  great  veins  began  to  swell  in  his  neck.  He 
would  have  choked,  had  he  not  violently  torn  off 
his  collar  and  cravat  and  flung  them  into  the  dust. 

His  thirst  for  blood  outstripped  his  fleet  horse, 
who  seemed  to  him,  in  his  impetuous  haste,  to  be 
creeping  like  a  snail.  He  drove  his  spurs  deep 
into  the  sides  of  the  frightened  animal,  which  al 
most  leaped  through  his  girth.  A  less  expert  horse* 
man  would  have  been  unseated;  but  an  earthquake 
could  not  have  thrown  this  Centaur  out  of  his  sad 
dle. 

The  forests,  hills  and  houses  flowed  past  him  like 
a  river.  Occasionally  he  halted  an  instant  to  in 
quire  of  some  lonely  traveler  if  he  had  seen  a  horse 
and  buggy  passing  that  way,  but  he  was  cunning 
enough  to  conceal  his  anxiety  and  to  hide  his  joy 
as  every  answer  made  him  more  certain  that  he 
was  on  the  trail  of  the  fugitives. 

The  road  was  perfectly  familiar.  He  had 
traversed  it  a  hundred  times,  and  not  having  to 
inquire  the  way  he  had  only  to  remember  and  to 
reflect.  An  undercurrent  of  speculation  had  been 
flowing  through  his  mind  as  to  where  he  should 
overtake  the  fugitives. 

"They  will  have  arrived  almost  at  the  edge  of  the 
great  forest  and  I  will  let  them  enter,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

Having  reached  the  foot  of  a  long  hill,  he 
dismounted,  led  his  horse  to  a  little  brook  and 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  207 

permitted  him  to  drink.  When  the  noble  animal 
had  quenched  his  thirst,  the  quack  patted  his  neck, 
picked  him  a  little  wisp  of  grass  and  talked  to  him 
as  if  he  were  a  man. 

"We  will  rest  ourselves  a  little  now,  for  we  shall 
need  all  our  strength  and  nerve.  One  more 
b-b-burst  of  speed  and  we  shall  overhaul  them. 
Have  you  got  your  wind,  Romeo  ?  Come  then,  let 
us  be  off!" 

Once  more  he  sprang  into  the  saddle,  the  restive 
horse  pawing  the  ground  and  leaping  forward  be 
fore  he  was  seated.  His  master  held  him  back  while 
they  ascended  the  long  slope  of  the  hill,  and  stopped 
him  as  they  gained  its  summit. 

The  descent  was  a  gradual  one,  down  into  a  beau 
tiful  valley.  For  a  mile  or  two  the  road  was  per 
fectly  straight  and  the  rider,  shading  his  eyes, 
glanced  along  it.  In  the  distance  a  moving  object 
attracted  his  attention,  and  as  he  gazed  at  it,  long 
.and  strainingly,  the  terrible  smile  once  more 
wreathed  his  white  lips. 

He  opened  the  holsters,  drew  out  the  pistols,  ex 
amined  them  carefully,  replaced  them,  felt  of  the 
stirrup  straps,  tightened  the  girth,  settled  himself  in 
the  saddle  and  shouted  "Go!" 

The  command  electrified  the  horse,  and  he 
dashed  forward  again  faster  than  ever.  As  they 
tore  down  the  slope  of  the  hill,  it  occurred  to  the 
doctor  that  he  had  not  formed  any  definite  plan  as 
to  what  he  should  do  to  Pepeeta!  "Shall  I  kill 
her,  also?"  he  asked  himself. 


208  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  thought  sent  a  shudder  through  him  and  he 
instinctively  pulled  on  the  bridle. 

"My  heart  will  tell  me,"  he  cried  aloud,  and 
loosened  the  reins  of  his  horse  and  of  his  passions. 
The  very  semblance  of  humanity  seemed  to  be 
suddenly  obliterated  from  his  countenance.  This 
was  no  longer  a  man,  but  an  agent  of  destruction 
rushing  like  a  missile  projected  from  a  cannon. 
There  were  only  two  things  present  to  his  con 
sciousness — the  carriage  upon  which  he  was  swiftly 
gaining,  and  the  fierce  smiting  of  the  horse's  hoofs 
which  seemed  to  be  echoing  the  cries  of  his  heart 
for  vengeance.  On  he  swept,  nearer,  nearer,  nearer. 
He  was  now  within  hailing  distance,  and  his  brain 
reeled;  he  forgot  his  discretion  and  his  plan. 

"Halt,"  he  screamed,  in  a  voice  that  cut  the  silent 
air  like  a  knife. 

A  face  appeared  above  the  top  of  the  buggy, 
and  looked  back.  It  was  his  foe. 

With  a  howl  of  rage,  he  snatched  a  pistol  from  the 
holster  and  fired.  The  bullet  went  wide  of  the  mark 
and  the  next  instant  he  saw  the  whip-lash  cut  the  air 
and  descend  on  the  flank  of  the  startled  mare.  The 
buggy  lurched  forward,  and  for  an  instant  drew 
rapidly  away.  Overwhelmed  by  the  fear  that  he 
might  be  baffled  in  his  vengeance,  he  drew  the  other 
pistol  and  fired  again  more  wide  of  the  mark  than 
before. 

With  a  wild  oath  he  flung  the  smoking  weapons 
into  the  road,  and  again  drove  the  spurs  into  the 
steaming  sides  of  his  horse.  There  could  be  no 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  209 

doubt  as  to  the  result  of  the  chase  after  that.  The 
half-maddened  animal  was  overhauling  the  fugi 
tives  perceptibly  at  every  enormous  stride,  and 
in  a  few  moments  more  shot  by  the  buggy  and  up 
to  the  head  of  the  terrified  mare.  As  he  did  so, 
his  rider  reached  out  his  left  hand  and  caught  the 
mare  by  her  bridle,  reined  up  his  own  horse  and 
threw  both  of  the  animals  back  upon  their 
haunches. 

In  another  instant  the  two  men  stood  confronting 
each  other  on  the  road,  the  quack  black  and  terrible, 
the  Quaker  white  and  calm.  Not  a  word  was 
spoken,  and  like  two  wild  beasts  emerging  from 
a  jungle  they  sprang  at  each  other's  throats.  They 
were  oddly,  but  not  unequally,  matched,  for  while 
the  doctor  was  short,  thick-set  and  muscular,  but 
clumsy  and  awkward  like  a  bear,  David  was  tall 
and  slim,  but  lithe  and  sinewy  as  a  panther.  Locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  they  seemed  like  a  single  hid 
eous  monster  in  some  sort  of  convulsion. 

As  it  was  impossible  for  them  in  this  deadly  em 
brace  to  strike,  they  wrestled  rather  than  fought, 
and  bit  with  teeth  and  tore  with  hands  with  equal 
ferocity. 

At  the  instant  when  the  two  infuriated  men  seized 
each  other  in  this  deadly  grip,  Pepeeta  fainted, 
while  the  terrified  mare  backed  the  buggy  into  the 
bushes  by  the  roadside.  Romeo,  snorting  and  paw 
ing  the  ground,  approached  the  combatants,  snuffed 
at  them  a  moment  as  if  profoundly  concerned 
at  their  strange  maneuvers,  then,  turning  away, 


210  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSO*/ 

began  to  crop  the  rich  blue  grass  in  entire  indif 
ference  to  the  results  of  this  mad  quarrel  between 
two  foolish  men. 

The  combatants  surged  and  swayed  back  and 
forth  along  the  dusty  road,  tripping  and  stumbling 
in  vain  efforts  to  throw  each  other  to  the  ground. 
Their  danger  lent  them  strength,  and  their  hatred 
skill.  At  last,  after  protracted  efforts,  they  fell  and 
rolled  over  and  over,  now  one  on  top,  now  the 
other.  Suddenly  and  as  if  by  a  single  impulse 
changing  their  tactics,  their  right  hands  unclasped 
and  began  to  feel  each  for  the  other's  throat.  A 
sudden  slip  of  David's  hold  permitted  the  doctor  to 
turn  him  over,  and  sprawling  across  his  breast  he 
pinioned  him  to  the  earth.  His  great  hand  stole 
toward  the  throat  of  his  prostrate  foe  and  fastened 
upon  it  with  the  grip  of  an  iron  vise. 

The  beautiful  face  turned  pale,  then  grew  purple. 
This  would  have  been  the  last  moment  in  the  life 
of  the  Quaker  had  not  his  right  hand,  convulsively 
clawing  the  road,  touched  a  piece  of  broken  rock. 
It  was  as  if  a  life-line  had  swung  up  against  the 
hand  of  a  drowning  man. 

Through  the  body  which  had  seemed  to  be  emp 
tied  of  all  its  resources,  a  tide  of  reserve  energy 
swelled,  under  the  impulse  of  which  the  exhausted 
youth  untwisted  the  grip  of  the  iron  hand,  flung  off 
the  heavy  body,  mounted  upon  it,  crowded  the 
great  head  with  its  matted  hair  and  staring  eyes 
down  into  the  dust,  seized  the  stone  with  his  right 
hand,  raised  it,  and  struck. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  211 

The  effect  of  the  blow  was  twofold — paralyzing 
the  brain  of  the  smitten  and  the  arm  of  the  smiter. 
Across  the  low  forehead  of  the  quack  it  left  a  great 
gaping  wound  like  a  bloody  mouth.  A  death-like 
pallor  spread  itself  over  his  countenance,  the  lids 
dropped  back  and  left  the  eyes  staring  hideously  up 
into  the  face  above  them. 

David's  arm,  spasmodically  uplifted  for  a  second 
blow,  was  suspended  in  air.  He  did  not  move 
for  a  long  time ;  and  when  at  length  his  scattered 
senses  began  to  return  he  threw  down  the  stone, 
rose  to  his  feet  and  exclaimed  in  accents  of  terror, 
"My  God !  I  have  killed  him." 

He  could  not  overcome  the  fascination  of  the 
lifeless  face  and  wide-staring  eyes.  They  drew 
him  towards  them;  he  stooped  down  and  felt 
for  the  pulse,  which  was  imperceptible;  laid  his 
hand  upon  the  heart,  but  could  not  feel  it  beat ;  he 
raised  an  arm,  and  it  fell  back  limp  and  lifeless. 

Suddenly  one  elemental  passion  gave  place  to 
another.  Horror  had  displaced  anger,  and  now  in 
its  turn  gave  way  to  the  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
He  looked  toward  the  carriage  and  saw  that  Pe- 
peeta  had  fallen  into  a  swoon.  "Perhaps  she  has 
not.  seen  what  has  happened,"  he  said  to  himself, 
and  a  cunning  smile  lit  up  his  pale  face. 

Stooping  down,  he  seized  the  loathsome  object 
lying  there  in  the  dust  of  the  road  and  dragged  it 
off  into  the  thick  shrubbery.  Stumbling  along,  he 
came  to  a  hollow  made  by  the  roots  of  an  up 
turned  tree.  Into  this  he  flung  the  thing,  hastily 


212  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

covered  it  with  moss  and  leaves,  and  stood  staring 
stupidly  at  the  rude  sepulchre.  He  experienced  a 
momentary  feeling  of  relief  that  the  hideous  object 
was  out  of  sight ;  but  the  consciousness  of  his  guilt 
and  his  danger  soon  surged  back  upon  him  like  a 
flood.  In  such  moments  the  mind  works  wildly, 
like  a  clock  with  a  broken  spring,  but  sometimes 
with  an  astonishing  accuracy  and  wisdom. 

It  occurred  to  him  that  if  he  left  the  body  where 
it  was  and  it  should  be  eventually  discovered,  it 
would  afford  the  gravest  suspicions  of  foul  play ; 
but  that  if  he  dragged  it  back  again  to  the  road  and 
laid  it  with  its  face  in  the  dust,  against  the  rock  with 
which  the  deed  was  done,  it  might  pass  for  an 
accident. 

Once  more  that  hideous  smile  of  cunning  lit  up 
the  face  which  in  these  few  moments  had  under 
gone  a  mysterious  deterioration.  He  hastily  re 
moved  the  heap  of  rubbish,  shuddered  as  he  saw 
the  loathsome  thing  once  more  exposed  to  view, 
but  seized  it,  dragged  it  back,  and  placed  it  with 
consummate  art  in  the  position  which  his  criminal 
prescience  had  suggested. 

As  it  lay  there  in  the  road  nothing  could  have 
seemed  more  natural  than  that  it  had  fallen  from 
the  horse;  he  felt  another  momentary  relief 
from  terror,  in  which  he  cunningly  conceived  a 
still  more  sagacious  plan,  on  noticing  Romeo.  They 
were  the  best  of  friends ;  it  was  easy  to  catch  him. 
He  did  so,  removed  the  saddle,  broke  the  girth  and 
placed  it  near  the  prostrate  figure  of  the  quack. 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  213 

Nothing  could  have  more  perfectly  resembled  an 
accident.  An  adept  in  crime  could  not  have  per 
formed  this  task  with  finer  skill,  and  he  was  free 
now  to  turn  to  the  rest  of  the  work  that  he  must 
do  to  conceal  this  ghastly  deed. 

Approaching  the  buggy,  he  found  to  his  im 
mense  relief  that  Pepeeta  was  still  unconscious. 
With  swift  and  silent  movements  he  freed  the  mare, 
led  her  out  into  the  road  and  drove  hurriedly  away. 

The  wood  through  which  they  were  passing  was 
wide  and  somber.  The  shadows  of  the  evening  had 
already  begun  to  creep  up  the  tree-trunks  and  lurk 
gloomily  among  the  branches.  Plaintive  bird  songs 
were  heard  from  the  treetops,  and  among  them 
those  of  the  mourning  dove,  whose  solemn,  funer 
eal  note  sent  shudders  through  the  heart  of  the 
trembling  fugitive. 

But  all  had  gone  successfully  so  far,  and  he 
actually  began  to  cherish  hope  that  he  would  es 
cape  detection.  There  still  remained,  however,  the 
uneasy  fear  that  Pepeeta  herself  had  been  a  witness 
of  the  deed.  Horrible  as  was  his  own  conscious 
ness  of  his  crime,  he  dared  to  hope  that  he  could 
stand  it,  if  only  she  did  not  know !  He  dreaded  to 
have  her  waken,  and  yet  it  seemed  as  if  he  could 
not  endure  the  suspense  until  he  found  whether 
she  had  seen  the  deed  or  not. 

Without  trying  to  rouse  her,  he  drove  rapidly 
forward,  and  just  as  he  emerged  from  the  wood 
came  to  another  brook,  so  similar  to  the  one  by 
the  side  of  which  the  struggle  had  occurred,  that 


214  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

he  conceived  the  idea  of  stopping  by  its  side  and 
awakening  Pepeeta  from  her  stupor  there.  "She 
will  not  notice  the  difference/'  he  said  to  himself; 
"and  if  she  did  not  witness  the  fatal  blow  I  can 
persuade  her  that  I  overpowered  the  doctor  and 
forced  him  to  return  while  she  was  in  her  swoon." 

Stopping  the  horse,  he  lifted  her  inanimate  form 
from  the  carriage,  bore  it  to  the  side  of  the  brook, 
laid  it  gently  upon  the  bank  and  dashed  a  handful 
of  the  cold  water  into  her  white  face.  She  gasped, 
opened  her  eyes,  and,  sitting  up,  looked  about  her 
with  an  expression  of  terror. 

"Where  am  I?"  she  asked. 

"Do  you  not  remember?  You  are  here  in  the 
wood  where  the  doctor  overtook  us,"  he  replied. 

"And  where  is  he?" 

"He  has  returned." 

"Has  something  dreadful  happened?" 

"Nothing." 

"But  I  saw  you  clench  with  each  other,  and  it 
was  awful!  What  happened  then?  I  must  have 
fainted.  Did  I?" 

"Yes,  you  fainted.    Were  you  so  frightened  ?" 

"Oh,  terribly!  I  thought  that  you  would  kill 
each  other !  It  was  horrible,  horrible !  But  where 
is  he  now?" 

"He  has  returned." 

"Returned  ?  Do  you  mean  that  he  has  gone  back 
without  me?  How  did  you  persuade  him  to  do 
that?" 

"How  did  I  persuade  him  ?  Ha !  ha !  I  persuaded 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  215 

him  with  my  fists.  You  should  have  seen  me,  Pe- 
peeta!  Are  you  quite  sure  that  you  did  not  see 
me?  I  should  like  you  to  know  what  a  coward  he 
was  at  last,  and  how  he  went  home  like  a  whipped 
puppy." 

"But  did  he  acknowledge  that  he  had  deceived 
me?" 

"He  did  indeed,  upon  his  knees." 

"And  do  you  think  he  has  gone,  never  to  re 
turn?" 

"Yes,  he  has  gone,  never  to  return,"  he  answered, 
shuddering  at  the  double  meaning  of  his  words. 
"He  made  his  confession  and  relinquished  his 
claim,  and  I  made  him  swear  that  he  would  re 
nounce  you  forever.  And  so  we  have  nothing  to  do 
but  forget  him  and  be  happy.  Are  you  feeling 
better  now?" 

"Yes,  I  am  better ;  but  I  am  not  well ;  I  cannot 
shake  it  off.  It  seems  too  dreadful  to  have  been 
real.  And  yet  how  much  better  it  is  than  if  one  of 
you  had  been  killed!  Oh!  I  wish  I  could  stop 
seeing  it"  (putting  her  hands  over  her  eyes).  "Let 
us  go!  Let  us  leave  this  gloomy  wood.  Let  us 
get  out  into  the  sunshine.  See !  It  is  getting  dark. 
We  must  not  stay  here  any  longer." 

"Yes,  let  us  go,"  he  said,  rising,  lifting  her  gently 
from  the  ground  and  leading  her  back  to  the  buggy 
in  which  they  took  their  seats  and  drove  rapidly 
forward. 

In  a  few  moments  they  emerged  from  the  forest. 
The  sun  was  still  a  little  way  above  the  horizon; 


216  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

its  cheerful  beams  partially  restored  PepeetaS 
spirits,  and  David  felt  a  momentary  pleasure  as  he 
saw  a  slight  smile  upon  her  pale  countenance. 

"Do  you  feel  happier  now?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  a  little,"  she  answered,  looking  into  his 
face  with  eyes  suffused  with  tears.  "And  I  am  so 
thankful  that  you  are  safe  !" 

"And  so  you  fainted  before  we  fell?"  he  asked, 
compelled  to  reassure  himself. 

"Did  you  fall?"  she  said,  trembling  again  and 
laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"There,  there,"  he  answered  gently;  "I  ought 
not  to  have  asked  you.  We  must  never  allude  to 
it  again.  We  must  forget  it.  Will  you  try?" 

"Yes,  I  will  try,  but  it  is  hard.  It  belongs  to  the 
past,  and  we  must  live  in  the  present  and  in  the 
future,  I  will  try.  I  love  you  so,  and  I  am  so 
thankful  that  you  are  safe."  As  she  said  this,  she 
took  his  hand  in  both  of  hers  and  pressed  it  to 
her  breast. 

This  tender  caress  produced  a  revulsion  in  his 
heart  and  he  shuddered.  Pepeeta  observed  it. 
"What  makes  you  tremble  so  ?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  he  answered,  regaining  his  self-con 
trol.  "It  is  only  that  I  have  been  very  angry,  and 
I  cannot  recover  from  it  at  once." 

"No  wonder,"  she  said,  taking  his  hand  again  and 
kissing  it. 

In  the  distance  they  saw  the  steeple  of  a  church. 
"Look,"  said  David,  "there  must  be  a  village  near. 
We  will  top  P.- •  "  '  *t  here  to-night,  and  in  the 


THE  SHADOW  OF  DEATH  217 

morning  we  will  push  on  toward  New  Orleans  and 
forget  the  past." 

They  rode  in  silence.  Pepeeta's  thoughts  were 
full  of  gladness;  and  David's  full  of  agony — they 
rushed  tumultuously  back  and  forth  through  his 
mind  like  contrary  winds  through  a  forest. 

"Was  it  not  enough  that  I  should  be  an  Adam, 
and  fall?  Must  I  also  become  a  Cain  and  go  forth 
with  the  brand  of  a  murderer  on  my  forehead?" 
he  kept  saying  to  himself. 

His  life  seemed  destined  to  reproduce  that  whole 
series  of  archetypal  experiences,  whose  records 


make  the  Hebrew  bcfiptures   the   inspired   mirror 
of  human  life. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 
A  FUGITIVE  AND  A  VAGABOND 


"That  is  the  bitterest  of   all,— to  wear  the  yoke  of  our  own 
wrong-doing!"  —Daniel  Deronda. 


The  morning  after  the  fight  David  and  Pepeeta 
hurried  on  to  Louisville,  and  from  there  took  a 
steamer  to  New  Orleans. 

However  hard  it  is  to  find  stepping-stones  when 
one  wishes  to  rise,  those  by  which  he  can  descend 
have  been  skilfully  planted  at  every  stage  of  life's 
journey,  and  Satanic  ingenuity  could  not  have  de 
vised  an  instrument  better  fitted  to  complete  the 
destruction  of  the  young  mystic's  moral  nature 
than  a  Mississippi  steamboat,  such  as  he  found  lying 
at  the  wharf.  He  had  been  subjected  to  the  fasci 
nation  of  love,  now  he  was  to  be  tried  by  that 
of  money.  It  is  by  a  series  of  such  consecutive 
assaults  upon  every  avenue  of  approach  to  the  soul 
that  it  is  at  last  reduced  to  ruin. 

Pepeeta  was  radiant  with  joy  as  they  embarked. 
"How  happy  I  am!"  she  cried.  "It  seems  as  if  I 
had  left  my  old  life  and  the  old  world  behind  me !" 

"And  I  am  happy  to  see  you  glad,"  answered  the 
wretched  youth,  whose  heart  lay  in  his  bosom  like 
lead  and  whose  conscience  was  writhing  with  a 
torture  of  whose  like  he  had  never  even  dreamed. 

218 


A  FUGITIVE  AND  A  VAGABOND        210 

They  embarked  unknown  and  unobserved;  but  as 
soon  as  the  first  confusion  had  passed,  their  sin 
gular  beauty  and  unusual  appearance  made  them 
the  cynosure  of  every  eye. 

"Who  is  that  splendid  fellow?"  women  asked 
each  other,  as  David  passed  with  Pepeeta  on  his 
arm,  while  under  their  breaths  men  swore  that  his 
companion  was  the  loveliest  woman  who  had 
ever  set  foot  on  a  Mississippi  steamer. 

The  pilot  forgot  to  turn  his  wheel  and  the  steve 
dores  to  put  out  the  gang  plank  when  she  stood 
looking  at  them.  Love,  and  her  freedom,  had 
transfigured  her.  She  was  radiant  with  health,  hap 
piness  and  hope,  and  entered  into  the  novelty  and 
excitement  of  this  floating  world  with  the  ardor  of 
a  child. 

All  was  gaiety  and  animation  on  board  the  vessel. 
People  from  countries  widely  separated  mingled 
with  each  other  and  chatted  with  the  greatest  free 
dom  on  every  subject  of  human  interest.  Ac 
quaintances  were  made  without  the  formality  of  an 
introduction,  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  two 
adventurers  were  drawn  into  conversation. 

"I  have  traveled  all  over  the  world,"  said  a  gen 
tleman  of  foreign  air,  "but  I  have  never  seen  any 
thing  so  picturesque  as  this  boat.  Look  at  the 
variegated  colors  and  styles  of  these  costumes,  at 
the  manifold  types  of  countenance,  at  the  blending 
of  races — black  and  white  and  red !  Listen  to  the 
discordant  but  altogether  charming  sounds,  the 
ringing  of  the  great  bell,  the  roar  of  the  whistle, 


220  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

the  splash  of  the  paddlewheels,  the  songs  of  the 
negroes,  and  the  clatter  of  dishes  in  the  cabins! 
It  is  a  hurly-burly  of  noise!  Then  what  varied 
scenery,  what  constant  excitement  at  the  landing, 
what  a  hodge-podge,  a  pot-pourri  of  merchandise! 
There  is  nothing  like  it  in  the  world." 

"Wait  until  you  see  a  race  with  another  steamer," 
said  an  officious  Yankee,  who  rejoiced  in  a  knowl 
edge  which  frequent  trips  had  given  him. 

"Are  they  exciting?"  asked  the  foreigner. 

"Well  I  should  say!  I  have  seen  horse  races 
and  prize  fights  in  my  day,  but  I  never  ran  against 
anything  that  shook  up  my  nerves  like  a  race  be 
tween  two  of  these  river  boats!  Every  pound  of 
steam  is  crowded  on,  the  engines  groan  like  im 
prisoned  devils,  a  darkey  sits  on  the  safety  valve, 
the  stokers  jam  the  furnaces,  the  passengers  crowd 
the  gunwales,  everybody  yells  at  the  top  of  his 
voice  until  pandemonium  is  mere  silence  compared 
to  it !  And  then  the  betting !  Lord,  you  never  saw 
betting  if  you  never  saw  a  river  race." 

"They  bet,  do  they?" 

"Bet?  They  don't  do  anything  else !  Just  got  on 
at  Louisville?  Oh!  well,  you'll  see  sights  in  the 
cabin  to-night  that  will  open  your  eyes.  Isn't  that 
so?"  he  asked,  turning  to  a  southern  planter  who 
had  been  edging  his  way  toward  Pepeeta. 

"Reckon  the  gentleman  '11  see  a  little  gambling, 
sah,  if  that's  what  you  refeh  to.  I've  heard  those 
that  ought  to  know  say  that  a  Mississippi  river  boat 
is  the  toughest  spot  on  top  of  earth  for  little  games 


A  FUGITIVE  AND  A  VAGABOND        221 

of  pokah  and  that  soht  of  thing,  sah.  'Spect  the 
gentleman  can  be  accommodated  if  he  likes  a  lively 
game  of  chance." 

"I  don't  expect  to  be  surprised  in  that  line,"  the 
foreigner  said,  with  the  air  of  one  who  knew  a 
thing  or  two;  "for  I  have  been  in  Monte  Carlo, 
Carlsbad  and  every  famous  gambling  place  in 
Europe." 

"Well,  sah,  I  don't  know ;  I  have  never  been  in 
those  places  myself,  but  I  have  heard  those  who 
have  say  that  what  they  play  there  is  mere  'penny 
ante'  to  what  goes  on  in  one  of  these  yere  Missis 
sippi  boats.  Like  a  little  game  now  and  then  my 
self,  sah.  Glad  to  have  you  join  me." 

While  these  men  and  others  pretended  to  ad 
dress  their  remarks  to  David  or  to  each  other,  their 
free  glances  were  more  and  more  directed  to  Pee- 
peeta  who  began  to  be  embarrassed  by  them  and 
gently  drew  David  away  to  more  retired  places. 
He  went  with  her  reluctantly,  for  he  was  in  need 
of  excitement.  The  thought  of  his  crime  was  con 
stantly  agitating  his  heart,  the  prostrate  form  of 
the  doctor  with  the  bloody  wound  on  his  fore 
head  was  never  absent  from  his  mind,  and  through 
all  the  ceaseless  rumble  around  him  he  could  hear 
the  dull  thud  of  the  stone  upon  the  hard  skull. 
The  efforts  which  he  made  to  throw  off  these  hor 
rible  weights  that  crushed  him  were  like  those  of  a 
man  awakening  from  a  nightmare.  He  scarcely 
dared  to  speak  for  fear  of  uttering  words  which 
would  betray  him  and  which  seemed  to  tremble 


222  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

on  his  lips.  Had  he  been  on  shore  he  would 
have  fled  to  the  solitude  of  a  forest;  but  here  he 
was  resistlessly  impelled  to  that  other  solitude — 
a  crowd.  The  necessity  of  being  gay  with  his  beau 
tiful  bride  and  of  concealing  every  trace  of  his  ter 
ror  and  remorse  taxed  his  resources  to  their  utmost 
limit,  and  in  his  nervousness  he  kept  Pepeeta  mov 
ing  with  him  all  day  long.  At  its  close  she  was 
completely  exhausted,  and  retired  early  to  her  state 
room.  Freed  from  her  company  and  craving  relief 
from  thought,  David  made  his  way  straight  to  the 
gambling  tables  where  the  nightly  games  were  in 
full  swing. 

The  claim  of  the  southerner  that  the  excitement 
at  those  tables,  when  the  river  traffic  was  at  ijs 
height,  had  never  been  surpassed  in  the  history  of 
games  of  chance,  was  no  exaggeration.  Not  a  sem 
blance  of  restraint  was  put  upon  the  players,  and  ex 
perts  from  all  over  the  world  gathered  to  pluck  the 
exhaustless  supply  of  victims,  as  buzzards  assemble 
to  feed  on  carrion.  Fortunes  were  made  and  lost  in 
a  night.  Men  sat  down  to  play  worth  thousands  of 
dollars,  and  rose  paupers!  They  staked  and  lost 
their  money,  their  slaves,  their  business  and  their 
homes.  In  the  wild  frenzy  which  such  misfortunes 
kindle  the  most  shocking  crimes  were  committed, 
but  the  criminals  were  never  called  to  account,  for 
the  law  was  powerless. 

What  the  fugitive  sought  was  diversion,  and  he 
found  it !  Tragedies  became  commonplace  in  those 
cabins.  Men  crowded  into  single  hours  the  ex^ 


A  FUGITIVE  AND  A  VAGABOND        223 

perience  and  excitement  of  months.  It  was  this 
very  night  that  an  encounter  occurred  which  is  still 
a  tradition  on  the  river. 

An  old  planter  approached  a  table  where  his  son, 
who  did  not  know  of  his  father's  presence  on  the 
boat,  was  playing.  He  stood  in  the  background 
and  watched  a  gambler  strip  the  boy  of  his  last 
penny,  and  when  the  young  fellow  rose  from  his 
chair,  white  as  a  sheet,  he  turned  to  look  into  the 
whiter  face  of  his  father.  The  enraged  parent  did 
not  speak  a  word,  but  took  the  seat  left  vacant  by 
the  boy  and  commenced  playing.  Rage  at  the 
financial  loss,  mortification  at  the  boy's  defeat,  and 
old  scores  to  be  settled  with  this  very  gambler,  con 
spired  to  rouse  him  to  a  frenzy.  His  terrible  ear 
nestness  paralyzed  the  dealer,  who  seemed  to  form 
some  premonition  of  a  tragic  termination  and  lost 
his  nerve.  In  a  little  while,  in  the  presence  of  a 
crowd  of  excited  spectators,  the  father  won  back  the 
exact  amount  his  son  had  lost,  and  then  rising  from 
his  chair  sprang  at  the  gambler,  seized  him, 
dragged  him  from  the  cabin  and  flung  him  into  the 
river. 

Terrible  as  was  the  furor  which  this  tragedy 
aroused,  it  subsided  almost  as  soon  as  the  ripples 
of  the  water  which  closed  over  the  drowning  man, 
and  the  players  returned  to  their  games  as  if  noth 
ing  had  happened. 

In  the  months  which  they  had  spent  together 
the  quack  had  indoctrinated  David  into  all  the  best- 
known  secrets  of  this  vice,  and  besides  this,  had 


224  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

familiarized  him  with  the  use  of  a  certain  "hold 
out"  of  his  own  invention,  with  which  he  had 
achieved  incredible  results  and  which  was  new  to 
the  fraternity  of  the  river.  Having  watched  the 
players  for  a  long  time,  David  convinced  himself 
that  he  could  employ  this  trick  successfully,  and 
took  his  place  at  the  table. 

The  young  man's  nerves  were  tested  by  the  cir 
cumstances  in  which  he  found  himself,  if  nerves  are 
tested  to  tension  anywhere,  for  he  faced  the  most 
experienced  masters  of  the  craft  who  could  be 
found  anywhere  in  the  world,  and  staked  not  only 
his  little  fortune,  but  his  existence,  for,  as  he  had 
just  seen,  these  determined  and  reckless  men 
thought  no  more  of  taking  life  than  of  taking 
money. 

David  felt  his  way  along  with  a  coolness  that 
astonished  himself,  and  his  very  first  experiment 
with  the  delicate  apparatus  concealed  in  his  sleeve 
was  such  a  brilliant  triumph  that  he  saw  it  was 
undetected.  With  a  strengthened  confidence,  he 
made  the  stakes  larger  and  larger,  and  his  win 
nings  increased  so  rapidly  as  to  make  him  the 
center  of  attention.  The  crowd  swarmed  round  the 
table.  The  spectators  became  breathless.  The 
gamblers  were  first  astonished,  then  bewildered. 
As  their  nerve  failed  them,  David's  assurance  in- 
creased,  and  when  day  broke  ten  thousand  dollars 
lay  upon  the  table  before  him  as  the  result  of  his 
skilful  and  desperate  efforts. 

Their  loss  astonished  and  enraged  the  gamblers 


A  FUGITIVE  AND  A  VAGABOND        225 

to  such  a  degree  that  with  a  preconcerted  signal 
they  sprang  at  their  opponent,  determined  to  re 
gain  their  money  by  violence.  The  move  was  not 
unexpected,  nor  was  he  unprepared.  He  fought  as 
he  had  played,  and  so  won  the  sympathies  of  the 
bystanders  that  in  an  instant  there  was  a  general 
melee  in  which  he  was  helped  to  escape  with  the 
winnings. 

He  was  the  hero  of  the  trip,  and  a  career  had 
opened  before  him.  Satellites  began  to  circle 
around  him  and  to  solicit  his  friendship  and  patron 
age. 

When  he  disembarked  at  New  Orleans  he  had 
already  entered  into  a  partnership  with  one  of  the 
most  notable  members  of  the  gambling  fraternity, 
and  purchased  an  interest  in  one  of  those  "palaces" 
where  games  of  chance  attracted  and  destroyed  their 
thousands. 

Ttue  newspapers  made  the  gay  throngs  of  that 
gayest  of  all  cities  familiar  with  the  incidents  of 
David's  advent.  He  and  Pepeeta  became  the  talk 
of  the  town.  They  rented  a  fashionable  house,  and 
swung  out  into  the  current  of  the  mad  life  of  the 
metropolis  of  the  South. 

For  a  little  while  this  excitement  and  glory  sof 
tened  the  pain  in  the  heart  of  the  man  who  be 
lieved  himself  to  be  a  murderer  and  encouraged 
him  to  hope  that  it  might  eventually  pass  away. 
He  played  recklessly  but  successfully,  for  he  was  a 
transient  favorite  of  the  fickle  goddess.  When 
gambling  lost  its  power  to  drown  the  voice  of  con- 


226  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

science,  there  was  the  race,  the  play  and  the  wine 
cup!  To  each  of  them  appealing  in  turn,  he  went 
whirling  madly  around  the  outer  circles  of  the  great 
maelstrom  in  which  so  many  brilliant  youths  were 
swallowed  in  those  ante-bellum  days. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 
ALIENATION 

"There  can  never  be  deep  peace  between  two  spirits,  never 
mutual  respect,  until,  in  their  dialogue,  each  stands  for  the 
whole  world."  —Emerson. 

For  two  years  David  and  Pepeeta  lived  together 
in  New  Orleans.  They  were  years  full  of  import, 
and  of  trouble.  A  baby  came  to  them,  lingered  a 
few  weeks,  and  then  died. 

David  pursued  the  occupation  he  had  chosen, 
with  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune  usually  attending 
the  votaries  of  games  of  chance,  and  the  moral  and 
spiritual  deterioration  which  they  invariably  de 
velop. 

Pepeeta  altered  strangely.  Her  bloom  disap 
peared  and  an  expression  of  sadness  became  habit 
ual  on  her  face.  She  was  surrounded  by  luxuries  of 
every  kind,  but  they  did  not  give  her  peace.  With 
an  ambition  which  never  flagged  she  sought  self 
improvement,  and  attained  it  to  a  remarkable  de 
gree.  Endowed  with  an  inherited  aptitude  for  cul 
ture,  she  read  and  studied  books,  observed  and 
imitated  elegant  manners,  and  rapidly  absorbed  the 
best  elements  of  such  higher  life  as  she  had  access 
to,  until  her  natural  beauty  and  charm  were  won 
derfully  enhanced.  Yet  she  was  not  happy,  for 
her  life  with  David  had  brought  her  nothing  but 

227 


228  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

surprise  and  disappointment ;  something  had  come 
between  them,  she  knew  not  what. 

"Dey  des  growed  apaht,"  said  the  old  negro 
"mammy,"  who  was  with  them  during  those  two 
years.  "Seemed  to  des  tech  each  other  like  mah- 
bles  at  a  single  point,  stade  of  meltin'  togedder  lak 
two  drops  of  watah  runnin'  down  a  window  pane. 
Mars'  David,  he  done  went  he  own  way,  drinkin', 
gamblin'  and  cussin';  he  lak  a  madman  when  he 
baby  die.  He  seem  skeered  when  he  see  Miss  Pe- 
peeta.  She  look  at  him  wid  her  big  black  eyes  full 
of  wonder  and  s'prise,  stretch  out  her  li'l  han's,  and 
when  he  run  away  or  struck  her,  she  des  go  out 
to  the  li'l  baby's  grave,  creeping  along  lak  a  shad- 
der  through  the  gyahden,  soft  lak  and  still.  Dar 
she  des  set  down  all  alone  and  sigh  lak  de  breeze  in 
de  ole  pine  tree.  Seme  days  she  gone  away  all 
alone  and  de  brack  folks  say  she  wanner  all  aroun' 
in  de  woods.  When  Sunday  come,  she  des  slip 
into  de  churches  lak  a  li'l  mouse  and  nibble  up  de 
gospel  crumbs  and  den  run  away  before  de  priests 
cotch  her.  Dark  days  dose,  in  de  ole  Ballantrae 
mansion!  And  den  come  de  night  when  dey 
pahted.  You  done  heah  about  dat  ?" 

The  old  colored  mammy  was  right.  "They  just 
grew  apart,"  as  it  was  inevitable  that  they  should. 
Perfect  self-manifestation  is  the  true  principle  and 
law  of  love,  and  when  a  guilty  secret  comes  be 
tween  two  lovers,  suspicion  and  fear  inevitably  re 
sult.  They  become  incomprehensible  to  each  other. 

David's  secret  preyed  upon  him  night  and  day 


ALIENATION  229 

like  that  insect  which,  having  once  entered  the 
brain  of  an  elk,  gnaws  ceaselessly  at  it  until  the 
miserable  victim's  last  breath  is  drawn.  While  he 
retained  for  Pepeeta  a  devotion  which  tormented 
him  with  its  intensity,  his  guilt  made  him  tremble 
in  her  presence.  He  shuddered  when  he  ap 
proached  her,  like  a  worshiper  who  enters  a  shrine 
with  a  stolen  offering.  Instead  of  calming  and 
soothing  him  as  she  would  have  done  had  he  only 
suffered  some  misfortune  instead  of  committing  a 
sin,  she  filled  him  with  an  unendurable  agitation. 
If  the  nerves  are  diseased,  a  flute  can  rasp  them  as 
terribly  as  a  file. 

As  for  Pepeeta,  she  must  have  been  bewildered 
by  this  phenomenon  which  she  could  not  possibly 
comprehend,  for  while  she  saw  her  lover  swayed 
from  his  orbit  she  could  not  see  the  planet  which 
produced  the  disturbance.  Feeling  that  he  had  not 
given  her  his  full  confidence  she  resented  his  dis 
trust,  and  as  his  melancholy  and  irritability  in 
creased,  withdrew  more  and  more  into  herself,  and 
;n  that  solitude  sought  the  companionship  of  God. 

It  was  a  frightful  discipline ;  but  she  was  sancti 
fied  by  it. 

Day  by  day  she  became  more  patient,  gentle  and 
resigned,  and  in  proportion  as  she  grew  in  these 
graces,  her  lover's  awe  and  fear  increased,  and  so 
they  drifted  farther  and  farther  apart. 

Such  relationships  cannot  continue  forever,  and 
they  generally  terminate  in  tragedy. 

After  the  first  few  months'  excitement  of  his  new 


230  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

life,  David's  conscience  began  to  torment  him  anew. 
He  became  melancholy,  then  moody,  and  finally 
fell  into  the  habit  of  sitting  for  hours  among  the 
crowds  which  swarmed  the  gambling  rooms,  brood- 
ing  over  his  secret.  From  stage  to  stage  in  the 
evolution  of  his  remorse  he  passed  until  he  at  last 
reached  that  of  superstition,  which  attacks  the  soul 
of  the  gambler  as  rust  does  iron.  And  so  the 
wretched  victim  of  many  vices  sat  one  evening  at 
the  close  of  the  second  year  with  his  hat  drawn 
down  over  his  eyes,  reflecting  upon  his  past. 

"What's  the  matter,  Davy?"  asked  a  player  who 
had  lost  his  stake,  and  was  whistling  good- 
humoredly  as  he  left  the  room. 

"Nothing,"  he  muttered. 

"Brace  up,  old  man !  There  is  no  use  taking 
life  so  hard !  You've  got  everything,  and  I've  got 
nothing;  and  I  am  happy  and  you  are  miserable. 
Brace  up,  I  say!"  And  with  that  he  slapped  him 
familiarly  on  the  shoulder. 

"Leave  me  alone,"  David  growled,  and  reached 
for  a  glass  mug  containing  a  strong  decoction  to 
which  he  was  resorting  more  and  more  as  his 
troubles  grew  intolerable.  A  strange  thing  hap 
pened  !  As  he  put  it  to  his  lips  its  bottom  dropped 
upon  the  table  and  the  contents  streamed  into  his 
lap  and  down  to  the  floor.  It  was  the  straw  that 
broke  the  camel's  back,  for  it  had  aroused  a  super 
stitious  terror. 

With  a  smothered  cry  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
gazed  around  upon  his  companions.  They,  too,  had 


ALIENATION  231 

observed  the  untoward  accident,  and  to  them  as 
well  as  to  him  it  was  a  symbol  of  disaster.  Not  one 
of  them  doubted  that  the  bottom  would  fall  out  of 
his  fortunes  as  out  of  his  glass,  for  by  such  signs 
as  these  the  gambler  reads  his  destiny. 

He  pulled  himself  together  and  made  a  jest  of  the 
accident,  but  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  dissipate 
the  impression  it  had  made  on  the  minds  of  his 
companions  or  to  banish  the  gloom  from  his  own 
soul.  And  so  after  a  few  brave  but  futile  efforts 
to  break  the  spell  of  apprehension,  he  slipped 
quietly  away,  opened  the  door  and  passed  out  into 
the  night. 


CHAPTER  XX. 
THE  INEVITABLE   HOUR 

"How  shall  I  lose  the  sin  yet  keep  the  sense, 
And  love  th*  offender,  yet  detest  the  offense?" 

—Pope. 

After  wandering  aimlessly  about  the  city  for 
awhile  the  half-crazed  gambler  turned  his  footsteps 
toward  home.  He  longed  for  and  yet  dreaded  its 
quiet  and  repose.  The  forces  of  attraction  and 
repulsion  were  so  nearly  balanced  that  for  a  long 
time  he  oscillated  before  his  own  door  like  a  piece 
of  iron  hung  between  the  opposite  poles  of  a 
battery. 

At  last  he  entered,  both  hoping  and  fearing  that 
Pepeeta  would  be  asleep.  He  had  a  vague  present 
iment  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  some  great  event. 
The  guilty  secret  so  long  hidden  in  the  depths  of 
his  soul  seemed  to  have  festered  its  way  danger 
ously  near  to  the  surface,  and  he  felt  that  if  any 
thing  more  should  happen  to  irritate  him  he  might 
do  something  desperate. 

So  quiet  had  been  his  movements  that  he  stood 
at  Pepeeta's  door  before  she  knew  that  he  had 
entered  the  house,  and  when  he  saw  her  kneeling 
by  her  bedside  he  stamped  his  foot  in  rage.  The 
worshiper,  startled  by  the  interruption,  although 
she  was  momentarily  expecting  it,  hastily  arose. 

As  she  turned  toward  him,  he  saw  that  there  was 
a  light  ,on  her  pale  countenance  which  reflected 
233 


THE  INEVITABLE  HOUR  233 

the  peace  of  God  to  whom  she  had  been  praying, 
as  worshipers  always  and  inevitably  reflect,  however 
feebly,  the  character  of  what  they  worship.  Her 
beauty,  her  humility,  her  holiness  goaded  him  to 
madness.  He  hated  her,  and  yet  he  loved  her.  He 
could  either  have  killed  her  or  died  for  her. 

She  smiled  him  a  welcome  which  revealed  her 
love,  but  did  not  conceal  her  sadness  nor  her  suf 
fering,  and,  approaching  him,  extended  her  hands 
for  an  embrace.  He  pushed  her  aside  and  flung 
himself  heavily  into  a  chair. 

"You  are  tired,"  she  said  soothingly,  and  stroked 
his  hair. 

He  did  not  answer,  and  her  caress  both  tranquil- 
ized  and  frenzied  him. 

She  placed  before  him  the  little  lunch  which  she 
always  prepared  with  her  own  hands  and  kept  in 
readiness  for  his  return. 

"Take  it  away,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed,  and  returning  seated  herself  upon  an 
ottoman  at  his  feet. 

The  silence  was  one  which  it  seemed  impossible 
to  break,  but  which  at  last  became  unendurable. 

"How  often  have  I  told  you  never  to  let  me  find 
you  on  your  knees  when  I  come  home  ?"  he  at  last 
asked,  brutally. 

"Oh !  my  beloved,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  will  at 
least  permit  me  to  kneel  to  you !  See !  I  am  here 
in  an  attitude  of  supplication !  Listen  to  me !  An 
swer  me!  What  is  the  matter?  Do  you  not  love 
me  any  more  ?  Tell  me !" 


234  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

He  drew  away  his  hands  which  she  had  clasped, 
and  folded  them  across  his  breast. 

"What  has  come  between  us?"  she  continued. 
"Tell  me  why  it  is  that  instead  of  growing  together, 
we  are  continually  drawing  apart?  Sometimes  I 
feel  that  we  arc  drifting  eternally  away  from  each 
other.  I  can  no  longer  get  near  to  you.  An  ocean 
seems  to  roll  between  us!  What  does  it  mean?  Is 
this  the  nature  of  love?  Does  it  only  last  for  a  little 
time?  Do  you  not  love  me  any  more?  Will  you 
never  love  me  again  ?" 

He  still  gazed  sullenly  at  the  floor. 

"Will  you  not  answer  me?"  she  begged  implor 
ingly.  "I  cannot  endure  it  any  longer.  My  heart 
will  break.  I  am  a  woman,  you  must  remember 
that!  I  need  love  and  sympathy  so  much.  It  is 
my  daily  bread.  What  is  the  matter?  I  beseech 
you  to  tell  me !  Is  it  your  business  ?  Do  you  feel, 
as  I  do,  that  it  is  wrong?  I  have  sometimes  thought 
so,  and  that  you  were  worried  by  it  and  would  be 
glad  to  give  it  up  but  for  the  fear  that  it  might 
deprive  me  of  some  of  these  luxuries.  Is  it  that? 
Oh !  you  do  not  know  me.  You  do  not  know  how 
happy  I  should  be  to  leave  these  things  forever, 
and  to  go  out  into  the  street  this  very  night  a 
pauper.  It  is  wrong,  David.  I  see  it  now.  I  feel  it 
in  the  depths  of  my  heart." 

"Wrong,  is  it,"  he  cried  savagely,  "and  whose 
fault  is  it  that  I  am  in  this  wrong  business  ?" 

"It  is  mine,"  she  said,  "mine !  I  own  it.  It  was  I 
who  led  you  astray.  How  often  and  how  bitterly 


THE  INEVITABLE  HOUR  235 

have  I  regretted  it!  How  strange  it  is,  that  love 
like  mine  could  ever  have  done  you  harm.  I  do 
not  understand  this.  I  cannot  see  how  love  can  do 
harm.  I  have  loved  you  so  truly  and  so  deeply, 
and  I  would  give  my  life  for  you,  and  yet  this  love 
of  mine  has  been  the  cause  of  all  your  trouble !  It 
would  seem  that  love  ought  to  bless  us.  Would 
you  not  think  so  ?" 

He  sat  silent;  any  one  but  Pepeeta  could  have 
seen  that  this  silence  would  soon  be  broken  by  an 
explosion. 

"Speak  to  me,  my  love !"  she  pleaded,  "speak  to 
me.  I  confess  that  I  have  wronged  you.  But  is 
there  not  something  that  I  can  do  to  make  you 
happy?  Surely  a  wrong  like  this  cannot  be  irrep 
arable.  Tell  me  something  that  I  can  do  to  make 
you  happy!" 

With  a  violent  and  convulsive  effort,  he  pushed 
her  away  and  exclaimed  fiercely,  "Leave  me !  Do 
not  touch  me !  I  hate  you !" 

"Hate  me?"  she  cried,  "hate  me?  Oh!  David. 
You  cannot  mean  it.  You  cannot  mean  that  you 
hate  me?" 

"But  I  do !"  he  exclaimed  bitterly.  "I  hate  you. 
You  have  ruined  me,  and  now  you  confess  it.  From 
the  time  that  I  first  saw  you  I  have  never  had  a 
moment's  peace.  Why  did  you  ever  cross  my 
path?  Could  you  not  have  left  me  alone  in  my 
happiness  and  innocence?  Look  at  me  now.  See 
what  you  have  brought  me  to.  I  am  ruined !  But 
I  am  not  alone.  You  have  pulled  yourself  down 


236  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

with  me.  What  will  you  say  when  I  tell  you  that 
you  are  involved  in  a  crime  that  must  drag  us  both 
to  hell?" 

"A  crime?"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands  in  ter 
ror. 

"Yes,  a  crime.  You  need  not  look  so  innocent. 
You  are  as  guilty  as  I,  or  at  least  you  are  as  deeply 
involved.  We  are  bound  together  in  misery.  We 
are  doomed." 

"Doomed!  Doomed!  What  do  you  mean? 
Tell  me,  I  implore  you — do  not  speak  in  riddles!" 

"Tell  you  ?  Do  you  wish  to  know  ?  Are  you  in 
earnest?  Then  I  will!  You  are  not  my  wife! 
There !  It  is  out  at  last !" 

Pepeeta  sprang  to  her  feet  and  stood  staring  at 
him  in  horror. 

"Not  your  wife?"  she  gasped. 

"No,  not  my  wife,"  he  said,  repeating  the  bitter 
truth.  "I  deceived  you.  You  were  married  to 
your  beast  of  a  husband  lawfully  enough ;  but  as 
you  would  not  leave  him  willingly,  I  determined 
that  you  should  leave  him  any  way.  And  so  I 
bribed  the  justice  to  deceive  you." 

"You-bribed-the-justice-to-deceive-me?" 

"Yes,  bribed  him.  Do  you  understand?  You 
see  now  what  your  cursed  beauty  has  brought  you 
to?" 

She  stood  before  him  white  and  silent. 

He  had  risen,  and  they  were  confronting  each 
other  with  their  sins  and  their  sorrows  between 
them. 


THE   INEVITABLE   HOUR  237 

It  was  as  if  a  flash  of  lightning  had  in  an  instant 
lit  up  the  darkness  of  her  whole  existence,  and  she 
saw  in  one  swift  glance  not  only  her  misery,  but 
her  sin.  He  was  cruel ;  but  he  was  right.  She  had 
been  ignorant;  but  she  had  not  been  altogether 
innocent.  There  was  a  period  in  this  tragedy  when 
she  had  gone  against  the  vague  but  powerful  pro 
test  of  her  soul.  With  a  swift  and  true  perception 
she  traced  her  present  sorrow  to  that  moment  in 
the  twilight  when,  against  that  protest,  she  be 
sought  David  to  accompany  them  on  their  travels. 
She  felt,  but  did  not  observe  nor  heed  that  admo 
nition.  She  had  even  forgotten  it,  but  now  it  rose 
vividly  before  her  memory. 

These  moments  of  revision,  when  the  logic  of 
events  throws  into  clear  light  the  vaguely  per 
ceived  motives  of  the  soul,  are  always  dramatic  and 
often  terrible. 

It  was  Pepeeta  who  broke  the  silence  following 
David's  outburst.  In  a  voice  preternaturally  calm, 
she  said,  "We  are  in  the  presence  of  God,  and  I 
demand  of  you  the  truth.  Is  what  you  have  told 
me  true?" 

"As  true  as  life.  As  true  as  death.  As  true  as 
hell,"  he  answered  bitterly. 

"This,  then,"  she  said,  "is  the  clue  to  all  this 
mystery.  The  tangled  thread  has  begun  to  un 
ravel.  Many  times  this  suspicion  has  forced  itself 
upon  my  mind ;  but  it  was  too  terrible  to  believe ! 
And  yet  I,  who  could  not  endure  the  suspicion, 
must  now  support  the  reality." 


238  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

They  had  not  taken  their  eyes  from  each  other 
and  were  trying  to  penetrate  each  other's  minds, 
but  realized  that  it  was  impossible.  There  was  in 
each  something  that  the  other  could  not  compre 
hend. 

The  strain  on  his  overwrought  nerves  soon  be 
came  unendurable  to  David,  and  he  sank  into  a 
chair. 

"Well,"  he  said,  as  he  did  so,  "what  are  you 
going  to  do  about  it?" 

She  had  not  at  first  realized  that  the  emergency 
called  for  action,  but  this  inquiry  awakened  her 
to  the  consciousness  that  she  was  in  a  situation 
from  which  she  must  escape  by  an  effort  of  her  will. 
She  was  before  a  horrible  dilemma  and  upon  one 
horn  or  the  other  she  must  be  cruelly  impaled. 

But  David,  who  asked  the  question,  had  not  real 
ized  this  necessity  at  all. 

"Do?"  she  said,  "do?  Must  I  do  something? 
Yes,  you  are  right.  We  cannot  go  on  as  we  are. 
Something  must  be  done.  But  what?  Is  it  pos 
sible  that  I  must  return  to  my  husband  ?  How  can 
I  do  that — I  who  cannot  think  of  him  without 
loathing!  What  is  the  matter?  Why  do  you 
tremble  so  ?  Is  it  then  as  terrible  to  you  as  to  me  ? 
I  see  from  your  emotion  that  I  am  right.  And 
yet  I  cannot  see  what  good  it  will  do!  How  can 
it  undo  the  wrong?  It  will  be  a  certain  sort  of  rep 
aration,  but  it  cannot  bring  him  happiness,  for  I 
cannot  give  him  back  my  heart.  To  whom  will 
it  bring  happiness  ?  Has  happiness  become  impos- 


THE   INEVITABLE   HOUR  239 

sible  ?  Are  we  all  three  doomed  to  eternal  misery  ? 
Oh  !  David,  why  have  you  done  this  ?" 

He  did  not  reply,  but  sat  cowering  in  his  chair. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  cried,  when  she  noticed  his 
despair,  "I  did  not  mean  to  reproach  you,  but  I  am 
so  bewildered !  And  yet  I  see  my  duty !  If  he  is 
my  husband,  I  must  go  back  to  him.  A  wife's 
place  is  by  her  husband's  side.  I  do  not  see  how 
I  can  do  it,  but  I  must.  How  hard  it  is !  I  cannot 
realize  it.  The  very  thought  of  seeing  him  again 
makes  me  shudder!  And  yet  I  must  go!" 

"It  is  impossible,"  gasped  the  trembling  creature 
to  whom  she  looked  for  confirmation. 

"Why  impossible?" 

"Because,  because — he — is — dead,"  he  whispered, 
through  his  dry  lips. 

"Dead?  Did  you  say  dead?"  Pepeeta  cried. 
"When  did  he  die ?  How  did  he  die?" 

"I  killed  him,"  he  shouted,  springing  to  his  feet 
and  waving  his  hands  wildly.  "There !  It  has  told 
itself.  I  knew  it  would.  It  has  been  eating  its 
way  out  of  my  heart  for  months.  I  should  have 
died  if  I  had  kept  it  secret  for  another  moment.  I 
feel  relieved  already.  You  do  not  know  what  it 
means  to  guard  a  secret  night  and  day  for  years, 
do  you?  Oh,  how  sweet  it  is  to  tell  it  at  last.  I 
killed  him!  I  killed  him!  I  struck  him  with 
a  stone.  I  crushed  his  skull  and  turned  him 
face  downward  in  the  road  and  left  him  there  so 
that  when  they  found  him  they  would  think  that 
he  had  fallen  from  his  horse.  It  was  well  done, 


240  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

for  one  who  had  had  no  training  in  crime !  No  one 
has  suspected  it.  I  am  in  no  danger.  And  yet  I 
could  not  keep  the  secret  any  longer.  Explain 
that,  will  you  ?  If  my  tongue  had  been  torn  out  by 
the  roots,  my  eyes  would  have  looked  it,  and  if  my 
eyes  had  been  seared  with  a  red-hot  iron,  my  hands 
would  have  written  it.  A  crime  can  find  a  thou 
sand  tongues !  And  now  that  I  have  told  it,  I  feel 
so  much  happier.  You  would  not  believe  it,  Pe- 
peeta.  I  am  like  myself  again.  I  feel  as  if  I  should 
never  be  unkind  or  irritable  any  more.  The  load 
has  fallen  from  my  heart.  Come,  now,  and  kiss  me. 
Let  me  take  you  in  my  arms." 

Extending  his  hands,  he  approached  her.  As  he 
did  so,  the  look  of  horror  with  which  she  had 
regarded  him  intensified  and  she  retreated  before 
him  until  she  reached  the  wall,  looking  like  a  sea- 
bird  hurled  against  a  precipice  by  a  storm.  Such 
dread  was  on  her  face  that  he  dared  not  touch  her. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  he  said.  "Are  you  afraid 
of  me?" 

She  did  not  reply,  but  gazed  at  him  as  if  he  were 
some  monster  suddenly  risen  from  the  deep.  He 
endured  the  glance  for  a  single  moment,  and  then, 
realizing  the  crime  which  he  had  committed  had 
excited  an  uncontrollable  repulsion  for  him  in  her 
soul,  he  staggered  backward  and  sank  once  more 
into  his  chair,  the  picture  of  helpless  and  hopeless 
despair. 

For  a  long  time  Pepeeta  gazed  at  him  without 
moving  or  speaking.  And  then,  as  she  beheld  his 


THE  INEVITABLE  HOUR  241 

misery,  the  look  of  horror  slowly  melted  into  one 
of  pity,  until  she  seemed  like  an  angel  who  from 
some  vast  distance  surveys  a  sinful  man.  Grad 
ually  she  began  to  realize  that  he  who  had  com 
mitted  this  dreadful  deed  was  her  own  lover,  and 
that  it  was  the  result  of  that  guilty  affection  which 
they  bore  each  other.  The  consciousness  of  her 
own  complicity  softened  her.  She  moved  towards 
him;  she  spoke. 

"Forgive  me,"  she  said,  "for  seeming  even  for  a 
moment  to  despise  and  abhor  you.  It  was  all  so 
sudden.  I  do  not  mean  to  condemn  you.  I  do 
not  mean  to  act  or  feel  as  if  I  were  any  less  guilty 
than  you  are  in  all  this  wrong.  But  when  one  has 
to  face  something  awful  without  preparation,  it  is 
very  hard.  No  wonder  that  we  do  not  know  what 
to  do.  Who  but  God  can  extricate  us  from  this 
trouble  ?  We  are  both  guilty,  David.  I  think  that 
it  is  because  I  have  had  so  large  a  share  in  all  the 
rest  that  has  been  wrong  that  I  cannot  now  feel 
towards  you  as  I  think  I  ought.  It  is  true  that 
you  have  injured  me  terribly  and  irretrievably.  It  is 
true  that  your  hands  are  stained  with  blood,  and 
yet  I  love  you !  My  heart  yearns  for  you  this  mo 
ment  as  never  before  since  we  have  known  each 
other.  I  long  to  take  you  in  my  arms." 

He  interrupted  her  by  springing  from  his  chair 
and  attempting  to  embrace  her;  but  she  waved 
him  back  with  a  strange  majesty  in  her  mien,  and 
continued.  "I  long  to  take  you  to  my  heart  and 
comfort  you.  I  could  live  with  you  or  I  could  die 


242  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

with  you.  But  there  is  a  voice  within  my  soul  that 
tells  me  that  we  must  part.  Lives  cannot  be  bound 
together  by  crime.  While  misfortunes  and  mistakes 
may  knit  the  hearts  of  lovers  together,  evil  deeds 
must  force  them  apart !  We  are  not  lawfully  mar 
ried,  and  so — " 

"But  we  can  be!"  he  exclaimed. 

"No,"  she  answered,  in  a  voice  that  sounded 
to  him  like  that  of  destiny.  "No,  we  cannot.  No 
one  would  marry  us  if  the  facts  were  known.  And 
if  we  concealed  them  from  others,  we  could  not 
hide  them  from  ourselves!  \Ve  have  no  right  to 
each  other.  We  could  not  respect  and  therefore 
we  could  not  truly  love  each  other.  Into  every 
moment  of  our  lives  this  guilty  secret  would  in 
trude.  No,  it  is  impossible.  I  see  it  clearly. 
Every  passing  moment  only  makes  it  more  plain. 
It  is  terrible,  but  it  is  necessary,  and  what  must 
be,  must!" 

"We  shall  not  part !"  he  cried,  springing  towards 
her  and  seizing  her  by  the  wrist.  "God  has  bound 
us  together  and  no  man  shall  put  us  asunder !  We 
are  as  firmly  linked  by  vice  as  by  virtue.  This 
secret  will  draw  us  together!  We  cannot  keep 
away  from  each  other.  I  should  find  you  if 
you  were  in  heaven  and  I  in  hell.  You  are 
mine !  mine,  I  say !  Nothing  shall  part  us.  Have 
I  not  suffered  for  you  and  sinned  for  you?  What 
better  title  is  there  than  that?  It  was  not  the  sin, 
but  the  secret  which  has  alienated  us,  and  now 
that  I  am  not  compelled  to  guard  it  any  longer, 


THE  INEVITABLE  HOUR  243 

there  can  be  no  more  trouble  between  us.  The 
deed  has  passed  unsuspected.  We  should  have 
heard  of  it  long  ago  if  any  one  had  ever  doubted 
that  it  was  an  accident.  Let  the  dead  past  bury 
its  dead!  Let  us  be  happy." 

He  looked  down  upon  her  as  if  his  will  were 
irresistible;  but  she  remained  unmoved  and  im 
movable,  and  gazed  at  him  with  deep,  sad  eyes  in 
which  he  saw  his  doom. 

"No,"  she  answered,  calmly,  "it  is  impossible. 
You  need  not  argue.  You  cannot  change  my  mind. 
I  see  it  all  too  clearly.  We  must  part." 

"Oh!  pity  me,"  he  cried,  falling  on  his  knees. 
"What  shall  I  do  ?  I  cannot  bear  this  burden  alone. 
It  will  crush  me.  Have  mercy,  Pepeeta.  Do  not 
drive  me  away.  I  cannot  endure  to  go  forth  with 
this  brand  of  Cain  upon  my  forehead  and  realize 
that  I  shall  never  hear  from  your  lips  another  word 
of  love  or  comfort.  Pity  me.  You  are  not  God. 
He  has  not  put  justice  into  your  hands  for  execu 
tion.  You  are  only  human!" 

"Alas,"  she  cried,  "and  all  too  human.  But,  my 
beloved,  I  am  not  acting  for  myself.  It  is  not  my 
mind  or  heart  that  speaks.  It  is  God  speaking 
through  me.  I  feel  myself  to  be  acting  under  an 
influence  apart  from  myself.  We  have  resisted 
these  voices  and  this  influence  too  long.  Now  we 
must  obey  them." 

"But,  Pepeeta,"  he  continued,  "yon  do  not  really 
think  that  you  have  the  power  to  suppress  the  love 
you  feel  for  me  ?" 


244  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"I  shall  not  try,"  she  answered. 

"But  can  you  not  see  that  this  passion  of  ours  will 
bring  us  together  again?  Sooner  or  later,  love  will 
conquer.  It  conquers  or  crushes.  Everything 
gives  way  to  it  at  last.  It  disrupts  the  most  solemn 
contracts.  It  burns  the  strongest  bonds  like  tow. 
Always  and  everywhere,  men  and  women  who  love 
will  come  together.  It  is  the  law  of  life,  it  is  destiny. 
We  cannot  remain  apart,  we  are  linked  together 
for  time  and  eternity." 

She  listened  to  him  calmly  until  he  had  finished 
and  then  said,  "Nevertheless,  I  must  go.  And  I 
will  go  now;  delay  is  useless.  I  see  only  too  clearly 
that  as  long  as  I  am  near,  you  must  steadily  get 
worse  instead  of  better.  While  you  possess  the  fruits 
of  your  sin  you  will  not  truly  repent.  You  must  eith 
er  surrender  them  or  be  deprived  of  them.  We  can 
never  become  accustomed  to  this  awful  secret.  Our 
lives  are  doomed  to  loneliness  and  sorrow;  we 
must  accept  our  destiny;  we  must  go  forth  alone 
to  seek  the  forgiveness  of  God.  Good-bye;  but  re 
member,  David,  in  every  hour  of  trial,  wherever  you 
may  be,  there  will  be  a  never-ceasing  prayer  as 
cending  to  God  for  you.  My  life  shall  be  devoted 
to  supplication.  I  shall  never  lose  hope;  I  shall 
never  doubt.  Love  like  that  I  bear  you  must  in 
some  way  be  redemptive  in  its  nature.  All  will  be 
well.  Once  more,  good-bye." 

She  smiled  on  him  with  unutterable  tenderness, 
and  with  her  eyes  still  fixed  upon  his  haggard  face 
began  to  move  slowly  toward  the  door. 


THE  INEVITABLE  HOUR  245 

He  did  not  stir;  he  could  not  move,  but  re 
mained  upon  his  knees  with  his  hands  extended 
towards  her  in  supplication. 

Like  some  exalted  figure  in  a  dream  he  saw  her 
vanish  from  his  sight;  the  world  became  empty 
and  dark ;  his  powers  of  endurance  had  been  over 
taxed;  he  lost  all  consciousness,  and  fell  forward 
on  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
A  SIGNAL  IN  THE  NIGHT 

"How  far  that  little  candle  throws  his  beams!" 

—Merchant  of  Venice. 

A  month  of  dangerous  and  almost  fatal  sick 
ness  followed.  When  at  last,  through  the  care  of  a 
faithful  negro  "mammy,"  the  much-enduring  man 
crept  out  from  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death, 
he  learned  that  Pepeeta  had  secured  a  little  room 
in  a  tenement  house  and  was  supporting  herself 
with  her  needle,  in  the  use  of  which  she  had  become 
an  expert  in  those  glad  hours  when  she  made  her 
baby's  clothes,  and  those  sad  ones  when  she  sat  far 
into  the  night  awaiting  David's  return. 

On  the  morning  of  the  first  day  in  which  he 
was  permitted  to  leave  the  house  he  made  his  way 
to  Pepeeta's  new  quarters. 

"And  so  this  is  to  be  her  home,"  he  said  with  a 
shudder  as  he  looked  up  to  the  attic  window.  Every 
day  this  pale  young  man  was  seen,  by  the  curious 
neighbors,  hovering  about  the  place.  As  for  the 
object  of  his  love  and  solicitude,  she  began  at  once 
to  be  a  bread-winner.  The  delicate  girl  who  never 
in  her  life  until  now  had  experienced  a  care  about 
the  necessities  of  existence  began  to  struggle  for 
bread  in  company  with  the  thousands  of  poor  and 
needy  creatures  by  whom  she  found  herself  sur 
rounded.  The  only  hunger  she  experienced  was 

246 


A  SIGNAL  IN  THE  NIGHT  247 

that  of  the  heart.  She  soon  became  conscious  of 
David's  presence,  and  derived  from  it  a  pleasure 
which  only  added  to  her  pain.  She  avoided  him  as 
best  she  could,  and  her  determination  and  her 
sanctity  prevented  him  from  approaching  her. 

David  could  never  remember  how  many  days 
were  passed  in  this  way,  for  he  lost  count  of  time, 
and  lived  more  like  a  man  in  a  dream  than  like  one 
in  a  world  of  life  and  action. 

But  as  his  strength  slowly  returned,  he  grew  more 
and  more  restive  under  the  restraint  which  Pepee- 
ta's  will  imposed  upon  him.  And  so,  while  he  did 
not  dare  to  approach  her  in  person,  he  determined 
to  put  his  case  to  a  final  test,  and  if  he  could  not 
win  her  back  to  leave  forever  a  place  in  which  he 
was  doomed  to  suffer  perpetual  torment. 

In  the  execution  of  this  purpose,  he  wrote  her  a 
letter  in  which,  after  passionately  pleading  for  her 
love,  he  asked  her  to  give  him  a  sign  of  willingness 
to  take  him  once  more  back  into  her  life.  "If  I 
may  cherish  hope  of  your  ultimate  relenting,"  he 
wrote,  "place  your  candle  on  the  window  sill.  I 
will  wait  until  midnight,  and  if  you  extinguish  it 
then,  I  shall  accept  your  decision  as  final,  and  you 
will  be  responsible  for  what  follows.  I  am  a  des 
perate  man,  and  life  without  you  has  become  in 
tolerable." 

With  this  letter  in  his  hand,  he  waited  until  the 
street  was  quiet  and  the  halls  of  the  tenement  house 
deserted,  and  then  crept  up  the  long  staircase  with 
trembling  knees. 


248  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

On  tiptoe  he  picked  his  way  across  the  corridor 
and  slipped  the  note  under  the  door.  So  quietly 
did  he  step  that  he  did  not  hear  his  own  footfall; 
but  it  did  not  escape  the  ears  of  the  woman  who  sat 
stitching  her  life  into  the  garment  lying  upon  her 
knees.  There  is  often  in  a  footfall  music  sweeter 
than  bird  songs  or  harp  tones. 

Having  thrust  the  letter  under  the  door,  David 
fled  hastily  down  the  stairway  and  into  the  street, 
where  he  began  to  pace  back  and  forth  like  a  sen 
try  on  his  beat,  never  for  a  single  instant  losing 
sight  of  the  window  whence  streamed  the  feeble 
rays  of  the  candle  from  which  he  was  to  receive 
the  signal  of  hope  or  despair. 

Never  did  a  condemned  felon  in  a  cell  watch  for 
the  coming  of  a  messenger  of  pardon  with  more 
wildly  beating  heart  than  his  as  he  gazed  at  that 
window  up  in  the  wall  of  the  gloomy  tenement 
house.  Never  did  a  mariner  on  a  storm-tossed 
vessel  keep  his  eye  more  resolutely  fixed  on  beams 
from  a  distant  lighthouse. 

It  was  then  ten  o'clock,  and  as  he  watched  the 
slow-moving  hands  upon  the  moonlit  dial  in  the 
church  tower,  it  seemed  to  him  they  were  held 
back  by  invisible  fingers,  and  there  came  to  his 
mind  a  forgotten  story  of  a  man  who,  having  been 
accidentally  imprisoned  in  a  sepulchre,  suffered  in 
the  twenty  minutes  which  elapsed  before  his  re 
lease  all  the  pangs  of  starvation,  so  powerfully  was 
his  imagination  excited.  This  story  which  he  had 
once  discredited  he  now  believed,  for  it  seemed  to 


A  SIGNAL  IN  THE  NIGHT  249 

him  as  if  eternities  were  being  crowded  into  single 
moments. 

He  had  also  heard  that  drowning  men  could  reA 
view  their  entire  lives  in  the  few  instants  that  pre-  \ 
ceded  their  loss  of  consciousness,  and  he  acquired 
a  new  comprehension  of  this  "mystery.  All  the 
experiences  of  his  entire  existence  swept  through 
his  mind  again  and  again  with  a  rapidity  and  a 
distinctness  that  astonished  him.  Like  a  great 
shuttle  darting  back  and  forth  through  a  fabric,  his 
mind  seemed  to  be  passing  again  and  again  forward 
and  backward  through  all  the  scenes  of  the  past. 
Finally,  and  after  what  seemed  uncounted  ages,  the 
great  clock  struck  the  hour  of  midnight.  One, 
two,  three — he  stood  like  a  man  rooted  to  the 
ground, — four,  five,  six — his  heart  beat  louder 
than  the  bell, — seven,  eight,  nine — the  blood 
seemed  bursting  through  his  temples, — ten,  eleven, 
twelve ! — the  light  went  out !  The  universe  seemed 
to  have  been  instantaneously  swallowed  up  in  dark 
ness.  He  could  not  see  the  figure  that  crept  to 
the  window  and  gazed  down  upon  him  from  behind 
the  drapery  of  the  curtains.  He  did  not  know  that 
Pepeeta  had  fallen  upon  her  knees  in  an  agony 
deeper  than  his  own,  and  was  gazing  down  at 
him  through  streaming  tears.  In  those  few  suc 
ceeding  moments  the  sense  of  his  personal  loss 
was  displaced  by  a  sudden  and  overpowering  sense 
of  his  personal  guilt.  The  full  consciousness  of 
his  sin  burst  upon  him.  He  saw  the  selfishness  of 


250  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

his  love  and  the  wickedness  of  his  lust  in  a  light 
brighter  than  day. 

There  is  a  kind  of  rhododendron  about  Trebizond 
of  which  the  bees  make  a  honey  that  drives  people 
mad!  He  saw  that  illicit  love  was  that  honey  of 
Trebizond!  He  felt,  as  he  had  never  felt  before, 
the  pressure  of  that  terrible  power  that  over  all  and 
through  all  the  discords  and  sins  of  life  makes 
resistlessly  for  righteousness.  He  perceived  that 
a  system  of  wheels  is  attached  to  every  thought  and 
act,  and  that  each  one  sets  in  motion  the  entire 
machinery  of  justice.  He  felt  that  every  sleepless 
starry  eye  in  heaven  penetrated  the  guilty  secrets 
of  his  soul  and  was  pledged  to  the  execution  of 
judgment. 

These  perceptions  confounded  him  with  fear. 
His  thoughts  ceased  to  move  in  order,  tossing  and 
teasing  each  other  like  straws  in  the  wind.  They 
ceased  to  illumine  the  depths  of  his  soul  and 
only  hung  like  flickering  candles  above  a  dark 
mine. 

Whether  he  looked  up  or  down,  without  or 
within,  he  saw  no  hope,  but  it  was  not  until  after 
the  lapse  of  many  and  unnoted  moments  that  the 
disturbed  machinery  of  his  mind  began  to  move. 
He  awakened  as  from  a  nightmare,  drew  his  hands 
across  his  eyes  and  looked  this  way  and  that  as  if 
to  get  his  bearings. 

"What  next?"  he  said  aloud,  as  if  speaking  to 
some  one  else.  Receiving  no  answer,  he  turned 
instinctively  toward  his  gambling  house,  and  went 


A  SIGNAL  IN  THE  NIGHT  251 

stumbling  along  through  the  deserted  streets. 
What  is  a  man,  after  all,  but  a  stumbling  ma 
chine?  Progress  is  made  by  falling  forward  over 
obstacles!  The  poor  stumbler  tottered  across  his 
own  threshold  into  that  brilliant  room  where  he 
had  always  received  an  enthusiastic  welcome,  but 
which  he  had  not  visited  since  his  sickness.  If 
ever  a  man  needed  kindness  and  encouragement  it 
was  he;  but  his  sensitive  spirit  instantly  discov 
ered  that  all  was  changed. 

His  superstitious  companions  had  not  forgotten 
the  broken  glass,  and  had  heard  of  his  subsequent 
calamities.  With  them  the  lucky  alone  were  the 
adorable !  The  gods  of  the  temples  of  fortunes  are 
easily  and  quickly  dethroned  and  the  worshipers 
had  already  prostrated  themselves  before  other 
shrines. 

The  coldness  of  his  greeting  sent  a  chill  to  his 
already  benumbed  heart  and  increased  his  despera 
tion.  He  was  nervous,  excited,  depressed,  and 
feeling  the  need  of  something  to  distract  his  thought 
from  his  troubles,  he  sat  down  and  began  to  play ; 
but  from  the  first  deal  he  lost — lost  steadily  and 
heavily. 

The  habitues  of  the  place  exchanged  significant 
glances  as  much  as  to  say,  "I  told  ypu  so!" 

Whispered  phrases  passed  from  lip  to  lip. 

"He  is  playing  wild." 

"He  has  lost  his  nerve." 

"His  luck  has  turned." 

And  so  indeed  it  had !    Within  a  few  short  hours 


252  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

he  had  staked  his  entire  fortune  and  lost  it.  It  had 
gone  as  easily  and  as  quickly  as  it  had  come. 

"I  guess  that  is  about  all,"  he  said,  pushing  him 
self  wearily  back  from  the  table  at  which  he  had  just 
parted  with  the  title  to  his  desolated  home. 

"Shall  I  stake  you,  Davy?"  asked  one  of  his 
friends,  touched  by  the  pathos  of  the  haggard  face 
and  hopeless  voice. 

"No,"  he  answered,  rising.  "I  have  played 
enough.  I  am  going  away.  Good-bye,  boys." 

Without  another  word,  he  left  them  and  passed 
out  of  the  door. 

"Good-bye,"  they  cried,  as  he  vanished,  scarcely 
raising  their  eyes  from  the  tables. 

Even  in  a  crowd  like  that  there  will  generally  be 
found  some  heart  which  still  retains  its  tenderness. 
The  young  man  who  had  offered  to  stake  him,  fol 
lowed  the  ruined  gambler  into  the  street. 

"Where  are  you  going,  old  man  ?"  he  said  kindly, 
slipping  his  hand  through  David's  arm. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  answered  absently. 

"Are  you  dead  broke,  Davy  ?" 

"Dead  broke,"  in  a  lifeless  echo. 

"Will  you  accept  a  little  loan?  You  can't  go 
far  without  money." 

"It's  no  use." 

"Take  it !  I  wouldn't  have  had  it  if  it  hadn't  been 
for  you,  and  I  won't  have  it  long  whether  you  take 
it  or  not." 

As  he  spoke  he  slipped  a  roll  of  bills  into  his 
friend's  pocket. 


A  SIGNAL  IN  THE  NIGHT  253 

"Thanks !"  said  David. 

"Don't  mention  it,"  he  replied, 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

The  sun  was  just  rising  as  they  parted.  The 
first  faint  stir  of  life  was  perceptible  in  the  city 
streets;  the  green-grocers  were  coming  in  with 
their  fresh  vegetables;  the  office  boys  were  open 
ing  the  doors  and  putting  away  the  shutters; 
there  was  a  bright,  morning  look  on  the  faces 
which  peered  into  the  haggard  countenance  of  the 
gambler  as  he  crept  aimlessly  along,  but  the  fresh, 
sweet  light  gave  him  neither  brightness  nor  joy. 
His  heart  was  cold  and  dead;  he  had  not  even 
formed  a  purpose. 

And  so  he  drifted  aimlessly  until  the  current  that 
was  setting  toward  the  levee  caught  him  and  bore 
'him  on  with  it.  The  sight  of  a  vessel  just  putting 
out  to  sea  communicated  to  his  spirit  its  first  defi 
nite  impulse  and  he  ascended  the  gang-plank  with 
out  even  inquiring  its  destination. 

In  a  few  moments  the  boat  swung  loose  and 
turned  its  prow  down  the  river.  The  bustle  of  the 
embarkation  distracted  him.  He  watched  the 
hurrying  sailors,  gazed  at  the  piles  of  merchandise, 
walked  up  and  down  the  deck,  listened  to  the  fresh 
breeze  that  began  to  play  upon  the  great,  sonorous 
harp  of  the  shrouds  and  the  masts,  and  when  at 
last  the  vessel  glided  out  into  the  waters  of  the  gulf 
he  lay  down  in  a  hammock  and  fell  into  a  long  and 
dreamless  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
HEART  HUNGER 

"Only;    I  discern 
Infinite  passion,   and   the    pain 
Of  finite  hearts  that  yearn." 

—Browning. 

For  a  moment  after  she  had  read  the  note  which 
David  thrust  beneath  her  door,  Pepeeta  held  her 
breath;  then  sinking  to  her  knees,  she  prostrated 
herself  before  that  august  Being  to  whom  all  men 
bow  in  last  extremities;  her  head  resting  upon  arms 
pathetically  crossed  on  the  low  window  sill  — 
bruised  but  not  broken,  cast  down,  but  not  de 
stroyed — she  drank  the  cup  of  sorrow  to  its  dregs. 

Men  hang  birds  in  dark  rooms,  sometimes,  until 
they  learn  to  sing,  and  it  was  to  a  kindred  discipline 
of  her  Heavenly  Father's  that  Pepeeta  was  being 
subjected.  In  that  supreme  hour  of  trial  she  per 
formed  the  greatest  feat  of  which  the  soul  is  capa 
ble.  She  defied  her  own  nature;  she  committed 
an  act  of  sacred  violence  against  the  most  clamor 
ous  propensities  of  her  heart. 

What  that  struggle  cost  her  no  mortal  mind  can 
know.  That  in  her  decision  she  chose  the  better 
part  some  will  doubt.  The  most  common  justifica 
tion  of  our  conduct  is  that  we  have  followed  the 
"dictates  of  our  natures."  But  because  those  na 
tures  are  double,  and  the  good  and  evil  perpetually 

254 


HEART   HUNGER  255 

struggle  for  the  mastery,  we  are  sometimes  com 
pelled  to  reverse  their  most  strenuous  demands. 

Those  lofty  souls  who  are  enabled  to  perceive 
their  duty  clearly  and  to  commit  bravely  this  act  of 
sacred  violence  must  always  remain  a  mystery  to 
those  who  meanly  live  upon  a  lower  plane  of  exist 
ence. 

It  was  as  certain  when  this  pure  soul  entered 
upon  her  renewed  struggle  to  find  the  path  of  duty 
that  she  would  succeed,  as  that  the  carrier  pigeon, 
launched  into  an  unknown  region,  will  find  the 
homeward  way;  but  for  a  little  time  she  fluttered 
her  wings  in  ignorance  and  despair;  she  found  no 
rest  for  the  soles  of  her  feet,  and  the  ark  of  refuge 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

The  nearness  of  her  lover,  she  coula  see  him  in 
the  street;  his  sorrow,  she  could  behold  his  white 
face  even  by  the  pale  light  of  the  moon;  his  tender 
love,  whose  real  depth  she  had  never  for  a  moment 
doubted;  his  bitter  agony,  which  she  knew  she 
could  terminate  in  a  single  instant,  all  appealed  to 
her  with  an  indescribable  power.  Her  own  sorrow 
and  loneliness  were  eclipsed  by  the  consciousness 
of  the  sorrow  and  loneliness  of  the  man  whom  she 
loved  more  than  life.  She  felt  the  pain  in  his 
bosom  far  more  than  in  her  own ;  but  this  feeling 
which  added  so  much  to  her  suffering  became  a 
clear  interpreter  of  her  duty. 

She  acted  from  a  single,  undivided  impulse;  it 
was  to  do  him  good  and  bring  to  him  the  final 
beatitude  of  life.  She  saw  as  clearly  as  when  the 


256  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

facts  about  this  tragedy  were  flashed  upon  her  that 
her  presence  in  David's  life  would  be  a  perpetual 
source  of  irritation,  and  that  so  long  as  he  possessed 
her  he  would  never  be  able  to  face  the  truly  spir 
itual  problems  which  remained  to  be  solved. 

How  she  acquired  those  powers  of  divination 
is  a  mystery.  Such  women  possess  a  certain 
prescience  that  cannot  wholly  be  accounted  for. 
What  Pepeeta  did  was  right  because  she  was 
Pepeeta.  It  does  not  follow  that  because  such 
natures  see  so  clearly  that  they  act  with  less  pain 
than  others.  Indeed,  the  more  clear  those  spiritual 
perceptions,  the  more  poignant  are  the  sufferings 
which  they  involve;  life  can  scarcely  afford  a  sit 
uation  more  pathetic  than  hers. 

Alone  in  a  great  city,  young  and  beautiful,  capa 
ble  of  enjoying  happiness  with  a  singular  apprecia 
tion,  the  victim  of  a  complicated  set  of  circum 
stances  for  the  comprehension  and  management  of 
which  her  early  life  had  afforded  no  training ;  guilty 
of  a  great  sin,  but  if  one  could  say  so,  innocently 
guilty,  and  penitent;  consecrated  to  duty,  but  torn 
asunder  by  conflicting  emotions  as  if  upon  a 
wheel — of  what  deeper  sorrow  is  the  soul  capable? 

When  she  extinguished  that  candle  she  extin 
guished  the  sun  of  her  human  happiness;  but  it 
happened  to  her  as  it  has  happened  to  countless 
others,  that  in  the  darkness  which  ensued  she  saw 
a  myriad  beautiful  stars. 

The  next  morning  Pepeeta  resolutely  took  up  the 
heavy  burden  of  her  life  and  bore  it  uncomplain- 


HEART  HUNGER  257 

ingly,  adjusting  herself  as  the  brave  and  patient 
have  ever  done,  to  the  necessities  of  her  daily  ex 
istence.  Her  little  attic  room  became  a  sort  of 
sanctuary,  and  began  to  take  upon  itself  a  reflec 
tion  of  her  nature.  She  built  it  to  fit  her  own 
character  and  needs,  as  a  bird  builds  its  nest  to  fit 
its  bosom. 

It  may  be  said  of  most  of  us  that  we  secrete  our 
homes  as  the  snails  do  their  shells.  They  become 
a  sort  of  material  embodiment  of  our  spirits,  a 
physical  expression  of  our  whole  thought  about 
life.  Before  long  flowers  were  blooming  in  Pe- 
peeta's  window;  a  mocking  bird  was  singing  in  a 
cage  above  it;  on  the  wall  hung  the  old  tambourine 
and  one  after  another  many  little  inexpensive  but 
brightening  bits  and  scraps  of  things  such  as 
women  pick  up  by  instinct  found  their  places  in 
this  simple  attic. 

She  seldom  left  it  for  the  outside  world,  except 
when  she  went  to  deliver  the  work  she  had  fin 
ished,  and  on  Sundays  when  she  spent  the  morn 
ing  wandering  from  one  church  to  another.  As 
a  consequence  of  these  brief  but  regular  pilgrim 
ages  her  beautiful  face  became  familiar  to  the  resi 
dents  of  some  of  the  side  streets  where  the  women 
and  children  made  her  low  courtesies  and  the  men 
doffed  their  hats  by  that  divine  instinct  of  reverence 
which  we  all  feel  in  the  presence  of  the  beautiful 
and  the  good. 

A  double  craving  devours  our  human  hearts — 
for  solitude  and  for  companionship.  As  there  are 


258  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

hours  when  we  thirst  to  be  alone,  there  are  others 
when  we  hunger  for  the  touch  of  a  human  hand, 
the  glance  of  a  human  eye,  a  smile  from  human 
lips.  Even  gross,  material  things  like,  food  and 
drink  lose  half  their  flavor  when  taken  in  solitude. 
Pepeeta  needed  friends  and  found  them. 

We  never  know  how  small  a  part  of  ourselves 
that  fraction  may  be  which  we  have  taken  for  the 
whole !  We  come  to  know  ourselves  by  struggle 
and  endeavor,  more  than  by  thought  and  medita 
tion.  We  have  only  to  do  our  work  each  day  in 
hope  and  trust.  We  can  only  find  rest  in  effort. 
It  is  not  in  repose,  but  in  activity — not  in  joy,  but 
in  sorrow,  that  the  soul  comes  to  its  second  birth. 
Pepeeta  needed  labor  and  suffering,  and  they  were 
sent  her. 

She  accepted  all  that  followed  her  supreme  de 
cision  without  a  question  and  without  a  murmur 
for  many  months,  and  then — a  reaction  came !  The 
draughts  upon  her  physical  and  emotional  nature 
had  been  too  great 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
WHERE  I   MIGHT   FIND   HIM 

"Attempt   the   end,    and   never   stand   to    doubt, 
Nothing's  so  hard  but  search  will  find  it  out." 

— Herrick. 

During  several  months  of  loneliness  and  sor 
row  a  great  change  had  been  taking  place  in  the 
mind  of  the  patient  sufferer,  of  which  she  was  only 
vaguely  conscious. 

Purposes  are  often  formed  in  the  depths  of  our 
souls,  of  which  we  know  nothing  until  they  sud 
denly  emerge  into  full  view.  Such  a  purpose  had 
been  slowly  evolving  in  the  heart  of  Pepeeta. 

The  strain  which  she  had  been  undergoing  began 
at  last  to  exhaust  her  physically. 

Her  vital  force  became  depleted,  her  step  grew 
feeble,  the  light  died  out  of  her  eyes,  she  drooped 
and  crept  feebly  about  her  room.  The  determina 
tion  which  she  had  so  resolutely  maintained  to  live 
apart  from  her  guilty  lover  slowly  ebbed  away. 
She  was,  after  all,  a  woman,  not  a  disembodied 
spirit,  and  her  woman's  heart  yearned  unquench- 
ably  for  the  touch  of  her  lover's  hand,  for  the  kisses 
of  his  lips,  for  the  comfort  of  his  presence. 

This  longing  increased  with  every  passing  hour. 
Fatigue,  weariness,  loneliness,  steadily  under 
mined  her  still  struggling  resistance  to  those  hun- 
gerings  which  never  left  her,  till  at  last,  when  the 

259 


200  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

failing  resources  of  her  nature  were  at  their 
lowest  point,  all  her  remaining  strength  was  con 
centrated  into  a  single  passionate  desire  to  look 
once  more  upon  the  face  which  glowed  forever 
before  her  inner  eye,  or  at  least  to  discover  what 
had  befallen  the  wanderer  in  his  sin  and  wretched 
ness. 

Slowly  the  diffused  longing  crystallized  into  a 
fixed  purpose,  to  resist  which  was  beyond  her 
power.  Having  nobly  conquered  temptation  while 
she  had  strength,  and  yielded  only  when  her  phy 
sical  nature  itself  was  exhausted,  she  gathered  up 
the  few  possessions  she  had  accumulated,  sold 
them  for  what  they  would  bring,  and,  with  a 
heart  palpitating  wildly,  broke  every  tie  she  had 
formed  with  the  life  around  her  and  turned  her  face 
toward  the  little  village  where  her  happiness  and 
sorrows  had  begun. 

It  was  a  long  and  tedious  journey  from  New 
Orleans  to  Cincinnati  in  those  days,  and  it  told 
terribly  upon  the  weakened  constitution  of  the  way 
farer.  Her  heart  beat  too  violently  in  her  bosom; 
a  fierce  fever  began  to  burn  in  her  veins ;  she 
trembled  with  terror  lest  her  strength  fail  her  before 
she  reached  her  journey's  end.  It  was  not  of  Death 
himself  that  she  was  afraid;  but  that  he  should 
overtake  her  before  she  had  seen  her  lover ! 

Husbanding  her  strength  as  shipwrecked  sailors 
save  their '"b'read  and  water,  she  counted  the  days 
and  the  miles  to  the  journey's  end,  and  having 
arrived  at  the  wharf  of  the  Queen  City,  the  pale 


WHERE  I   MIGHT   FIND   HIM  261 

young  traveler  who  had  excited  the  compassion  of 
the  passengers,  b'ut  who  would  neither  communi 
cate  the  secret  of  her  sorrow  nor  accept  of  any  aid, 
took  her  little  bundle  in  her  thin  hand  and  started 
off  on  the  last  stage  of  her  weary  pilgrimage.  It 
was  the  hardest  of  all,  for  her  money  was  exhausted 
and  there  was  nothing  for  her  to  do  but  walk. 

It  was  a  cold  December  day.  Gray  clouds  low 
ered,  wintry  winds  began  to  moan,  and  she  had 
proceeded  but  a  little  way  when  light  flakes  of 
snow  began  to  fall.  The  chill  penetrated  her  thin 
clothing  and  shook  her  fragile  form.  She  moved 
more  like  a  wraith  than  a  living  woman.  Her  tired 
feet  left  such  slight  impressions  in  the  snow  that  the 
feathery  flakes  obliterated  one  almost  before  she 
had  made  another,  and  she  was  haunted  by  the 
thought  that  every  trace  of  her  passage  through 
life  was  thus  to  disappear! 

Ignorant  of  the  distance  or  the  exact  direction, 
and  stopping  occasionally  to  inquire  the  way,  she 
plodded  on,  the  exhaustion  of  hunger  and  weariness 
becoming  more  and  more  unendurable.  All  that 
she  did  now  was  done  by  the  sheer  force  of  will; 
but  yield  she  would  not.  She  would  die  cheerfully 
when  she  had  attained  her  object,  but  not  before. 
The  winds  became  more  wild  and  boisterous ;  they 
loosened  and  tossed  her  black  hair  about  her  wan 
face;  they  beat  against  her  person  and  drove  her 
back.  Every  step  seemed  the  last  one  possible;  but 
suddenly,  just  as  she  descended  the  slope  of  a  steep 
hill,  she  saw  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  village  and 


262  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

the  feeble  rays  shot  new  courage  into  her  heart. 
Under  this  accession  of  power  she  pushed  forward 
and  made  her  way  toward  the  old  Quaker  home 
stead. 

The  night  had  now  deepened  around  her;  but 
every  foot  of  the  landscape  had  been  indelibly  im 
pressed  upon  her  memory,  and  even  in  the  gather 
ing  gloom  she  chose  the  road  unerringly.  There 
were  only  a  few  steps  more,  and  reeling  toward 
the  door  yard  fence  she  felt  her  way  to  the  gate, 
opened  it,  staggered  forward  up  the  path  in  the 
rays  of  light  that  struggled  out  into  the  darkness, 
and  with  one  final  effort  fell  fainting  upon  the 
threshold. 

The  scene  within  the  house  presented  a  striking 
contrast  to  that  without.  In  a  great  open  fireplace 
the  flames  of  the  beech  logs  were  wavering  up  the 
chimney.  Seated  in  the  radiance  of  their  light,  on  a 
low  stool,  was  a  young  boy  with  his  elbows  upon 
his  knees  and  his  cheeks  in  the  palms  of  his  hands. 
His  mother  sat  by  his  side  stroking  his  hair  and 
gazing  at  him  in  fond,  brooding  love.  The  father 
was  bending  over  a  Bible  lying  open  on  the  table ; 
it  was  the  hour  of  prayer.  He  was  reading  a  lesson 
from  the  twenty-fifth  chapter  of  St.  Matthew,  and 
had  just  articulated  in  slow  and  reverent  tones  the 
words  of  Jesus,  "I  was  a  stranger  and  ye  took  me 
in,"  when  they  heard  a  sound  at  the  door. 

Father,  mother  and  son  sprang  to  their  feet  and, 
hurrying  towards  the  door,  flung  it  open  and  beheld 
a  woman's  limp  form  lying  on  the  threshold. 


WHERE  I   MIGHT  FIND   HIM  263 

It  was  but  a  child's  weight  to  the  stalwart  Quaker 
who  picked  it  up  in  his  great  arms  and  carried  it 
into  the  radiance  of  the  great  fireplace,  and  in  an  in 
stant  he  and  Dorothea  his  wife  were  pushing  for 
ward  the  work  of  restoration.  They  forced  a  cordial 
between  the  parted  lips,  chafed  the  white  hands, 
warmed  the  half-frozen  feet,  and  in  a  few  moments 
were  rewarded  by  discovering  feeble  signs  of  life. 
The  color  came  back  in  a  faint  glow  to  the  marble 
face,  the  pulses  fluttered  feebly,  the  bosom  heaved 
gently,  as  if  the  refluent  tide  of  life  had  surged  re 
luctantly  back,  and  the  tired  heart  began  once  more 
to  beat.  She  had  regained  her  life  but  not  her  con 
sciousness,  and  lay  there  as  white  and  almost  as 
still  as  death.  The  little  boy  stood  gazing  won- 
deringly  at  her  from  a  distance.  The  calm  features 
of  the  Quaker  were  agitated  with  emotion.  His 
wife  knelt  by  the  side  of  the  pale  sleeper,  and  her 
tears  dropped  silently  on  the  hand  which  she 
pressed  to  her  lips. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

SAFE  HAVEN 

"The  human  heart  finds  shelter  nowhere  but  In  human  kind." 

—George    Eliot. 

For  many  days  Pepeeta's  life  hung  in  the  bal 
ance,  her  spirit  hovering  uncertainly  along  the  bor 
der  land  of  being,  and  it  was  only  love  that  wooed 
it  back  to  life. 

When  at  length,  through  careful  nursing,  she 
really  regained  her  consciousness  and  came  up 
from  those  unfathomable  abysses  where  she  had 
been  wandering,  she  opened  her  eyes  upon  the  walls 
of  a  little  chamber  that  looked  out  through  an  al 
cove  into  the  living  room  of  the  Quaker  house. 

Dorothea  had  finished  her  afternoon's  work  and 
was  seated  before  the  great  fireplace,  while  by  her 
side  stood  Steven,  speaking  to  her  in  whispers,  and 
looking  often  toward  the  cot  on  which  Pepeeta  lay. 
An  almost  sacred  stillness  was  in  the  room,  for  since 
the  advent  of  the  sufferer,  even  the  quiet  of  that 
well-ordered  household  had  deepened  and  softened. 

The  silence  was  suddenly  broken  by  a  voice  feeble 
and  tremulous,  but  very  musical  and  sweet.  It 
was  Pepeeta,  who  gazed  around  her  in  bewilder 
ment  and  asked  in  vague  alarm,  "Where  am  I?" 

Dorothea  was  by  her  side  in   an  instant,   and 
taking  the  thin  fingers  in  her  strong  hands,  replied: 
"Thee  is  among  friends." 
264 


SAFE  HAVEN  265 

Pepeeta  looked  long  into  the  calm  face  above 
her,  and  gathered  reassurance;  but  her  memory 
did  not  at  once  return. 

"Have  I  ever  been  in  this  place  before?  Have  I 
ever  seen  your  face?  Has  something  dreadful  hap 
pened?  Tell  me,"  she  entreated,  gazing  with  agita 
tion  into  the  calm  eyes  that  looked  down  into  hers. 

"I  cannot  tell  thee  whether  thee  has  ever  seen 
us  before,  but  we  have  seen  thee  so  much  for  a 
few  days  that  we  feel  like  old  friends,"  said  Dor 
othea,  pressing  the  hand  she  held,  and  smiling. 

Pepeeta's  eyes  wandered  about  the  room  rest 
lessly  for  a  moment,  and  then  some  dim  remem 
brance  of  the  past  came  back. 

"Did  I  come  here  in  a  great  storm  ?"  she  asked. 

"Thee  did,  indeed.  The  night  was  wild  and 
cold." 

"Did  I  fall  on  the  threshold?" 

"Upon  the  very  threshold,  and  let  us  thank  God 
for  that,  because  if  thee  had  fallen  at  the  gate  or  in 
the  path  we  should  never  have  heard  thee." 

Pepeeta  struggled  to  a  sitting  posture  as  her 
memory  clarified,  fixed  her  wide  open  eyes  upon 
Dorothea  and  asked,  pathetically,  "Where  is  he?" 

"I  do  not  know  who  thee  means,"  said  Dorothea, 
laying  her  hand  on  the  invalid's  shoulders  and  try 
ing  gently  to  push  her  back  upon  her  pillow. 

"David !"  she  exclaimed,  "David.  Tell  me  if  you 
know,  for  it  seems  to  me  I  shall  die  if  I  do  not 
hear." 

"I  do  not  know,  my  love.    It  is  a  long  time  since 


266  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

we  have  heard  from  David.  But  thee  must  lie 
down.  Thee  is  not  strong  enough  to  talk." 

She  did  not  need  to  force  her  now.  The  muscles 
relaxed,  and  Pepeeta  sank  back  upon  her  pillow, 
sobbing  like  a  little  child,  while  Dorothea  stroked 
her  forehead.  The  soothing  touch  of  her  hand 
and  her  gentle  presence  calmed  the  agitated  and 
disappointed  heart.  The  sobs  became  less  fre 
quent,  the  tears  ceased  to  flow,  and  sleep,  coming 
like  a  benediction,  brought  the  balm  of  oblivion. 

The  boy,  with  his  great  brown  eyes,  looked  won- 
deringly  from  the  face  of  the  invalid  to  that  of  his 
mother,  who  sat  silently  weaving  in  her  imagina 
tion  the  story  of  this  life,  from  the  few  strands 
which  she  had  seized  in  this  brief  and  broken  con 
versation. 

The  next  morning  when  Pepeeta  awakened  she 
was  not  only  rested  and  refreshed  by  this  natural 
sleep,  but  was  restored  to  the  full  possession  of  her 
consciousness  and  her  memory. 

When  Dorothea  came  in  from  her  morning 
duties  to  see  how  her  patient  fared,  she  was  startled 
by  the  change,  for  the  invalid  had  recovered  that 
calm  self-possession  which  she  had  lost  before  be 
ginning  her  journey,  and  now  that  her  uncertainty 
was  ended  had  already  begun  to  face  disappoint 
ment  with  fortitude  and  resolution. 

The  nurse  seated  herself  by  the  patient,  who 
said  humbly : 

"May  I  talk  now?" 

"If  thee  feels  strong  enough  and  can  do  it  without 


SAFE  HAVEN  267 

exciting  thyself,  thee  may.  But  if  thee  cannot,  thee 
had  better  wait  a  little  longer.  Thee  is  very  weak." 

"But  I  am  much  better,  am  I  not  ?" 

"Yes,  thee  is  much  better,  but  thee  is  far  from 
well." 

"Yes,  I  am  far  from  well ;  but  it  will  do  me  good 
to  talk.  I  have  much  to  tell,  and  I  cannot  rest 
until  I  tell  it  all." 

"Thee  need  not  hurry — need  thee?" 

"Yes — I  feel  in  haste.  I  have  no  right  to  all 
this  kindness,  for  I  have  done  this  household  a 
great  wrong  and  I  must  confess  it.  It  is  a  sad, 
sad  story.  Will  you  listen  to  it  now  ?" 

"If  it  will  do  thee  good  instead  of  harm,  I  will." 

"Then  prop  me  up  in  bed,  if  you  please.  Place 
me  so  that  I  can  talk  freely.  There,  thank  you.  You 
are  so  gentle  and  so  kind.  I  have  never  in  all  my 
life  had  any  one  touch  me  so  gently.  And  now,  if 
you  are  ready,  be  seated  in  the  greai  chair  and  turn 
your  face  to  the  wall." 

"To  the  wall?" 

"Yes,  to  the  wall.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  the  re 
proaches  that  must  fill  those  kind  eyes." 

"But,  my  dear,  thee  shall  not  see  any  reproaches 
in  my  eyes.  Who  am  I  that  I  should  judge  thee? 
We  are  commanded  in  the  holy  Bible  to  judge  not, 
lest  we  be  judged  again.  Tell  thy  story  without 
fear.  Thee  shall  tell  it  to  ears  that  shall  hear  thee 
patiently,  and  a  heart  that  is  not  devoid  of  pity." 

"I  cannot,  cannot,"  cried  Pepeeta,  "do  as  I  pray ! 
Look  out  of  the  window.  Look  anywhere  but  at 


268  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

my  face.  Let  me  lie  here  and  look  up.  Let  mo 
tell  my  story  as  if  to  God  alone.  It  will  be  easy  for 
me  to  do  that,  for  I  have  told  it  to  Him  again  and 
again." 

Fearing  to  agitate  her,  Dorothea  did  as  she  de 
sired. 

"Are  we  alone?" 

"Yes,  all  alone." 

"Well,  then,  I  will  begin,"  Pepeeta  said,  and  in 
a  voice  choked  with  emotion,  the  poor  sufferer 
breathed  out  the  tale  of  her  sin  and  her  sorrow. 
She  told  all.  She  did  not  shield  herself,  and  every 
where  she  could  she  softened  the  wrong  done  by 
David.  It  was  a  long  story,  and  was  interrupted 
only  by  the  ticking  of  the  great  clock  in  the  hall 
way,  telling  off  the  moments  with  as  little  concern 
as  when  three  years  before  it  had  listened  to  the 
story  told  to  David  by  his  mother.  When  the 
confession  was  ended  a  silence  followed,  which 
Dorothea  broke  by  asking  gently: 

"May  Hook,  now?" 

"If  you  can  forgive  me,"  Pepeeta  answered. 

The  tender-hearted  woman  rose,  approached  the 
bedside  and  kissed  the  quivering  lips. 

"Have  you  forgiven  me  ?"  Pepeeta  asked,  seizing 
the  face  in  her  thin  hands  and  looking  almost  de 
spairingly  into  the  great  blue  eyes. 

"As  I  hope  to  be  forgiven,"  Dorothea  answered, 
kissing  her  again  and  again. 

A  look  of  almost  perfect  happiness  diffused  itself 
over  the  pale  countenance. 


SAFE  HAVEN  269 

"It  is  too  much — too  much.  How  can  it  be? 
It  was  such  a  great  wrong !"  she  exclaimed. 

"Yes,  it  was  a  great  wrong.  Thee  has  sinned 
much,  but  much  shall  be  forgiven  if  thee  is  penitent, 
and  I  think  thee  is.  No  love  nor  pardon  should  be 
withheld  from  those  who  mourn  their  sins.  Our 
God  is  love!  And  we  are  so  ignorant  and  frail. 
It  is  a  sad  story,  as  thee  says,  but  it  is  better 
to  be  led  astray  by  our  good  passions  than  by 
our  bad.  I  have  noticed  that  it  is  sometimes  by  our 
holiest  instincts  that  we  are  betrayed  into  our  dark 
est  sins !  It  was  heaven's  brightest  light — the  light 
of  love — that  led  thee  astray,  my  child,  and  even 
love  may  not  be  followed  with  closed  eyes !  But 
thee  does  not  need  to  be  preached  to." 

Astonished  at  such  an  almost  divine  insight  and 
compassion,  Pepeeta  exclaimed,  "How  came  you  to 
know  so  much  of  the  tragedy  of  human  life,  so 
much  of  the  soul's  weakness  and  guilt;  you  who 
have  lived  so  quietly  in  this  happy  home?" 

"By  consulting  my  own  heart,  dear.  We  do  not 
differ  in  ourselves  so  much  as  in  our  experiences 
and  temptations.  But  thee  has  talked  enough  about 
thy  troubles.  Tell  me  thy  name?  What  shall  we 
call  thee?" 

"My  name  is  Pepeeta." 

"And  mine  is  Dorothea." 

"Oh!  Dorothea,"  Pepeeta  exclaimed,  "do  you 
think  we  shall  ever  see  him  again  ?" 

"I  cannot  tell.  We  had  made  many  inquiries  and 
given  up  in  despair.  And  now  when  we  least  ex- 


270  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

pected  news,  thee  has  come!  We  will  cherish  hope 
again.  We  were  discouraged  too  easily." 

"Oh!  how  strong  you  are — how  comforting. 
Yes,  we  will  cherish  hope,  and  when  I  am  well  I 
will  start  out,  and  search  for  him  everywhere.  I 
shall  find  him.  My  heart  tells  me  so." 

"But  thee  is  not  well  enough,  yet/'  Dorothea 
said,  with  a  kind  smile,  "and  until  thee  is,  thee 
must  be  at  rest  in  thy  soul  and,  abiding  here  with 
us,  await  the  revelation  of  the  divine  will." 

"Oh,  may  I  stay  a  little  while?  It  is  so  quiet 
and  restful  here.  I  feel  like  a  tired  bird  that  has 
found  a  refuge  from  a  storm.  But  what  will  your 
husband  say,  when  he  hears  this  story?" 

"Thee  need  not  be  troubled  about  that.  His 
door  and  heart  are  ever  open  to  those  who  labor 
and  are  heavy  laden.  The  Christ  has  found  a  faith 
ful  follower  in  him,  Pepeeta.  It  was  he  who  first 
divined  thy  story." 

"Then  you  knew  me  ?" 

"We  had  conjectured." 

"Then  I  will  stay,  oh,  I  will  stay  a  little  while, 
and  perhaps,  perhaps — who  knows?"  she  clasped 
her  hands,  her  soul  looked  out  of  her  eyes,  and  a 
smile  of  genuine  happiness  lit  up  her  sad  face. 

"Yes,  who  knows?"  said  Dorothea,  gently,  re 
arranging  the  pillows  and  bidding  the  invalid  fall 
asleep  again. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
THE  LITTLE  LAD 

"Better  to  be  driven  out  from  among  men,  than  to  he  disliked 
of  children."  —Dana. 

Pepeeta  took  her  place  in  this  hospitable  house 
hold  as  an  orphan  child  might  have  done.  Just  as 
a  flower  unfolding  from  a  plant,  or  a  bird  building 
its  nest  in  a  tree  is  almost  instantly  "at  home,"  so  it 
was  with  Pepeeta. 

When  she  was  strong  enough  to  work,  she  began 
to  assume  domestic  cares  and  to  discharge  them  in 
a  quiet  and  beautiful  way  which  brought  a  sweet 
relief  to  the  full  hands  of  the  overburdened  house 
wife.  And  her  companionship  was  no  less  grate 
ful  to  Dorothea  than  her  help,  for  life  in  a  frontier 
household  in  those  pioneer  days  was  none  too  full 
of  animation  and  brightness,  even  for  a  quiet  nature 
like  hers.  To  Steven  she  soon  became  a  com 
panion;  and  Jacob,  the  father,  yielded  no  less 
quickly  and  easily  to  the  charms  of  this  strange 
guest  than  did  mother  and  child. 

He  was  a  man  of  earnest  piety  and  of  deep  in 
sight  into  human  nature.  He  had,  as  Dorothea 
said,  made  shrewd  guesses  at  Pepeeta's  story  before 
she  told  it,  and  had  formed  his  own  theories  as  to 
her  nature  and  her  errand. 

"I  tell  thee,  Dorothea,  she  is  a  lady,"  were  the 
words  in  which  he  had  uttered  his  conclusions  to 

271 


272  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

his  wife,  in  one  of  their  many  conversations  about 
the  mysterious  stranger. 

"What  makes  thee  think  so  ?"  she  asked. 

"Every  'feature  of  that  delicate  face  tells  its 
own  history.  These  three  years  of  contact  with 
David  and  a  different  life  could  never  have 
so  completely  wiped  out  the  traces  of  the  vulgar 
breeding  of  a  gypsy  camp  and  the  low  education 
of  a  rogue's  society,  unless  there  were  good  blood  in 
those  veins.  Mark  my  word,  there  is  a  story  about 
that  life  that  would  stir  the  heart  if  it  were  known." 

"No  wonder  David  loved  her,"  said  the  wife. 

"No  wonder,  indeed.  But  if  it  is  as  it  seems, 
there  is  a  mystery  in  their  influence  on  each  other 
that  would  confound  the  subtlest  student  of  life." 

"To  what  does  thee  refer?" 

"Two  such  natures  ought  to  have  made  each 
other  better  instead  of  worse  by  contact.  You 
can  predict  what  frost  and  sunlight,  water  and  oil, 
seed  and  soil  will  do  when  they  meet ;  but  not  men 

/and  women !  Two  bads  sometimes  make  a  good, 
and  two  goods  sometimes  make  a  bad." 

"Thee  thinks  strange  thoughts,  Jacob,  and  I 
do  not  always  follow  thee,  but  even  if  it  be  wrong, 
I  cannot  help  wishing  that  our  dear  David  could 
have  had  her  for  his  lawful  wife,"  said  Dorothea. 

"The  tale  is  not  all  told  yet,"  responded  her  hus 
band,  opening  his  book  and  beginning  to  read. 

With  feelings  like  these  in  their  hearts,  they 
could  not  but  extend  to  Pepeeta  that  sympathy 
which  alone  could  soothe  the  sorrow  of  her  soul. 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  273 

The  sweet  atmosphere  of  this  home ;  the  conscious 
ness  that  she  was  among  friends ;  the  knowledge 
that  they  would  do  all  they  could  to  find  the  wan 
derer  whom  every  one  loved  with  such  devotion, 
gave  to  Pepeeta's  overwrought  feelings  an  exquis 
ite  relief. 

Her  natural  spirits  and  buoyant  nature,  repressed 
so  long,  began  to  reassert  themselves,  and  soon 
burst  forth  in  gladness.  The  change  was  slow, 
but  sure,  and  by  the  time  the  spring  days  came 
and  it  was  possible  to  get  out  into  the  open  air, 
the  color  had  come  back  to  the  pale  face  and 
the  light  to  the  dimmed  eyes.  She  was  like  a 
flower  transplanted  from  some  dark  corner  into  an 
open,  sunny  spot  in  a  garden.  But  that  which, 
more  than  all  else,  tended  to  develop  within  her 
graces  still  unfolded,  was  her  constant  contact 
with  Steven.  A  subtle  sympathy  had  been  estab 
lished  between  them  from  their  very  first  meeting 
and  they  gradually  became  almost  inseparable  com 
rades.  Their  common  love  of  outdoor  life  took  them 
on  long  walks  into  the  woods,  from  which  they  came 
burdened  with  the  first  blossoms  of  the  springtime, 
or  they  would  return  from  the  river,  laden  with  fish, 
for  Steven  insisted  upon  making  Pepeeta  his  com 
panion  in  every  excursion;  nor  was  it  hard  to  per 
suade  her  to  join  him,  she  was  so  naturally  a 
creature  of  the  open  air  and  sunlight. 

Among  the  many  happy  days  thus  passed,  one 
was  especially  memorable.  Steven  had  told  her 
much  of  a  famous  fishing  place  in  the  big  Miami, 


274  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

several  miles  away,  and  had  promised  that  if  she 
would  go  with  him  on  the  next  Saturday  he  would 
show  it  to  her  and  also  reveal  a  secret  which  no 
one  knew  but  himself  and  in  which  she  could  not 
but  take  the  greatest  interest.  The  day  dawned 
bright  and  clear,  and  while  the  dew  was  still  on  the 
grass  they  started. 

One  of  Pepeeta's  sources  of  enjoyment  in  these 
excursions  was  the  constant  prattle  of  the  boy 
about  that  uncle  whose  long  absence  had  served 
rather  to  increase  than  to  diminish  the  idolatry 
of  his  heart.  This  morning,  so  like  the  one  on 
which  Pepeeta  had  seen  David  by  the  side  of  the 
brook  when  first  they  met,  awakened  all  the  fervor 
of  her  love  and  she  could  think  of  nothing  else. 

"You  must  point  out  to  me  all  the  places  where 
you  and  your  uncle  have  ever  been  together,  little 
brother,"  she  said  to  him,  as  they  crossed  the  field 
where  she  had  first  caught  sight  of  David  at  the 
plow. 

"Why  does  thee  care  to  know  so  much  about 
him?"  he  asked,  naively  looking  up  into  her  face. 

"Do  you  not  know?"  she  inquired. 

"No,  I  have  asked  father  and  mother,  but  they 
will  not  tell  me." 

"If  I  tell  you,  will  you  be  true  to  me?" 

"Won't  I,  though  ?  I  love  thee.  I  would  fight 
for  thee,  if  I  were  not  a  Quaker's  son !  Perhaps 
I  would  fight  for  thee  anyway." 

"You  will  not  need  to  fight  for  me,  dearest.  I 
could  tell  you  a  story  about  fighting  that  would 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  275 

make  you  wish  never  to  fight  again.  Perhaps  I  will, 
sometime ;  but  not  now,  for  this  must  be  a  happy 
day  and  I  do  not  want  to  sadden  it  by  telling  you 
too  much  about  the  shadows  that  cloud  my  life." 

He  looked  up  with  a  pained  expression.  "Has 
thee  had  troubles  ?"  he  asked. 

"Great  troubles,  and  they  are  not  ended  yet.  I 
should  be  very  wretched,  but  for  you  and  your  dear 
parents.  You  are  but  a  child,  and  yet  it  would  com 
fort  me  to  tell  you  that  I  love  your  uncle  with  a  love 
that  can  never  die.  And  so  when  I  ask  you  about 
him  you  will  tell  me  everything  you  know,  will  you 
not?  And  remember  that  in  doing  so  you  are 
helping  to  make  happy  a  poor  heart  that  carries 
heavy  burdens.  There,  that  will  do.  I  have  told 
you  more,  perhaps,  than  I  ought;  but  although 
you  are  young,  I  am  sure  that  you  are  brave  and 
true.  And  so,  if  there  is  any  story  about  your  uncle 
which  you  have  never  told  me,  let  me  hear  it  now. 
And  if  there  is  not,  tell  me  one  that  you  have  told 
me  over  and  over  again." 

"Did  I  ever  tell  thee  how  he  saved  a  little  lamb 
from  drowning?" 

"No!  did  he  do  that?" 

"Yes,  he  did!  Thee  knows  that  when  the 
snow  melts,  this  little  brook  swells  up  into  a 
great  river  and  sometimes  it  happens  so  suddenly 
that  even  the  grown  people  are  scared.  It  did 
that  day,  and  came  just  pouring  out  of  those  woods 
and  through  the  meadow  where  our  old  Maisie  was 
playing  with  two  little  lambs,  One  of  them  wa.3 


276  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

bounding  around  her,  and  it  slipped  over  the  edge 
of  the  bank  and  fell  into  the  bed  of  the  creek.  It 
wasn't  a  very  high  bank,  you  know ;  but  the  lamb 
was  little,  and  it  just  stood  bleating  in  the  bed,  and 
its  mother  stood  bleating  on  the  bank.  Well,  Uncle 
David  heard  them  and  started  to  see  what  was  the 
matter,  and  though  the  rain  had  begun  to  fall,  he 
ran  across  the  field  as  hard  as  he  could.  But  by 
the  time  he  reached  the  place  the  flood  caught  up 
the  little  lamb  and  rolled  it  over  and  over  like  a  ball. 
Uncle  Dave  didn't  even  wait  to  take  off  his  coat, 
but  plunged  right  into  that  water,  boiling  like  a 
soap  kettle,  and  swam  out  and  grabbed  that  little 
lamb  and  hung  to  it  until  he  landed  down  there 
on  a  high  bank  a  quarter  of  a  mile  away.  What 
does  thee  think  of  that,  Pepeeta?" 

Her  eyes  kindled;  pride  swelled  in  her  heart, 
and  her  spirits  rose  with  that  wild  feeling  of  joy 
with  which  women  always  hear  of  the  bold  deeds  of 
those  they  love. 

"How  beautiful  and  noble  he  is,"  she  cried. 

"And  strong !"  added  the  boy,  to  whose  youthful 
imagination  physical  prowess  was  still  the  greatest 
grace  of  life.  And  as  he  said  it  they  reached  a 
little  rivulet  so  swollen  by  the  spring  rains  as  to 
be  a  formidable  obstacle  to  their  progress.  Steven 
had  not  considered  it  in  laying  out  their  route  and 
stood  before  it  in  dismay. 

"How  is  thee  ever  going  to  get  across?"  ho 
asked,  and  then  under  the  impulse  of  a  sudden 
inspiration  rushed  to  the  fence,  took  off  the  top 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  277 

rail  and  hurrying  to  the  side  of  the  brook  flung  it 
across  for  a  bridge,  with  all  the  gallantry  of  a  Sir 
Walter  Raleigh. 

But  the  spirits  of  his  companion  were  too  high  to 
accept  of  aid !  The  strength  of  her  lover  had  com 
municated  itself  to  her,  and  with  a  light,  free  bound, 
she  leaped  to  the  other  side. 

The  boy's  first  feeling  was  one  of  chagrin  at 
having  his  offer  so  proudly  scorned;  but  his 
second  was  that  of  boundless  pride  at  a  feat  so 
worthy  of  the  hero  whose  praises  they  had  just 
been  sounding.  "Hurrah !"  he  cried,  bounding 
after  her  and  flinging  his  hat  into  the  air. 

"Thee  is  as  good  a  jumper  as  a  man,"  he  ex 
claimed,  regarding  her  with  astonishment  and  ad 
miration. 

As  they  moved  forward  Nature  wove  her  spells 
around  them  and  they  gave  themselves  utterly  to 
her  charms,  pausing  to  look  and  listen,  rapt  in  an 
ecstasy  of  communion  and  sympathy.  Pepeeta's 
familiarity  with  the  flowers  was  greater  than  Stev 
en's,  but  she  knew  little  about  birds,  and  pro 
pounded  many  questions  to  the  young  naturalist 
whose  knowledge  of  the  inhabitants  of  field,  forest 
and  river  seemed  to  be  communicated  by  the  ob 
jects  themselves,  rather  than  by  human  teachers. 

"Hark!  What  is  that  bird,  singing  on  the  top 
of  that  tall  stake?"  she  asked,  pausing  to  listen,  her 
hand  lifted  as  if  to  invoke  silence. 

"That  ?    Why,  it's  a  meadow  lark,"  said  Steven. 

"And  there  is  another,  'way  up  in  the  top  of  that 


278  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

tall  tree.  Oh !  how  sweet  and  rich  his  song  is. 
What  is  his  name?'' 

'That's  a  red  bird,  and  if  thee  listens  thee  can 
hear  a  brown  thrasher  over  there  in  the  woods." 

They  paused  and  drank  in  the  rich  music  until 
each  of  these  voices  was  silenced,  and  out  of  a  copse 
of  dense  shade  by  the  brookside  there  began  to 
bubble  a  spring  of  melody  so  liquid,  so  clear,  and 
withal  of  such  beauty,  that  Pepeeta  trembled  with 
delight,  hearing  in  that  audible  melody  the  unheard 
songs  of  the  soul  itself. 

"What  is  it,  Steven?"  she  asked  in  a  whisper. 

"Why,  that  is  a  cat  bird!  Doesn't  thee  know  a 
cat  bird?  I  cannot  remember  when  I  did  not  know 
what  that  song  was !  It  is  such  a  crazy  bird !  It 
has  only  two  tunes  and  is  like  our  teacher  at 
school.  She  either  praises  or  else  scolds  us.  And 
that  is  the  way  with  the  cat  bird.  It  is  either  talking 
love  to  its  mate,  or  else  abusing  it !  I  don't  like 
such  people  or  such  birds;  I  like  those  who  have 
more  tunes.  Now  thee  has  a  lot  of  tunes,  Pepeeta!" 

This  quaint  reflection  and  delicate  compliment 
broke  the  bird's  spell  and  made  Pepeeta  laugh, — a 
laugh  as  musical  and  sweet  as  the  song  of  the  bird 
itself.  It  passed  through  the  fringe  of  trees  along 
the  river  bank,  rippled  across  it  over  against  the 
smooth  face  of  a  cliff  and  came  back  sweetly  on  the 
spring  air. 

"Oh !  did  you  hear  the  echo?"  Pepeeta  exclaimed. 

"That  is  what  I  brought  thee  here  for!"  he  said. 
"Uncle  David  taught  me  how  to  make  it  answer 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  279 

and  told  me  what  it  was.  It  frightened  me  at  first. 
Let  us  get  close  up  to  the  water  and  listen !" 

He  took  her  by  the  hand  and  drew  her  along. 

"Is  it  here  that  you  are  to  tell  me  the  secret?'' 
she  asked. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said.  "The  echo  tells  its  secrets! 
It  is  nothing  but  a  blab  any  way.  But  I  do  not 
tell  mine  until  the  right  time  comes!  Thee  must 
wait." 

They  came  out  upon  the  edge  of  the  river  which 
makes  a  sweep  around  a  sharp  corner  on  the  oppo 
site  side  of  which  was  "Echo  Rock."  There  they 
stood  and  shouted  and  laughed  as  their  voices  came 
back  upon  the  still  air  softened  and  etherealized. 

Becoming  tired  of  this  sport  at  last,  the  boy 
picked  up  a  flat  stone  from  the  river's  edge  and  said, 
"Can  thee  skip  a  stone,  Pepeeta?  I  never  saw  a 
girl  that  could  skip  a  stone." 

"But  I  am  not  a  girl,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  but  thee  was  a  girl  once,  and  if  thee  did 
not  learn  then  thee  cannot  do  it  now.  Come,  let 
me  see  thee  try.  Here  is  a  stone,  and  a  beauty, 
too;  round,  flat  and  smooth.  That  stone  ought  to 
make  sixteen  jumps!" 

"But  you  must  show  me  how,"  she  said. 

"All  right,  I  will,"  he  replied,  and  sent  one  skim 
ming  along  the  smooth  surface  of  the  water. 

"Beautiful,"  she  said,  clapping  her  hands  as  it 
bounded  in  ever  diminishing  saltations  and  with  a 
finer  skill  than  that  of  Giotto,  drew  perfect  circles 
on  the  watery  canvas. 


280  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Delighted  with  the  applause,  the  child  found  an 
other  stone  and  gave  it  to  Pepeeta.  She  took  it, 
drew  her  hand  back  and  tossed  it  awkwardly  from 
her  shoulder.  It  sank  with  a  dull  plunge  into  the 
stream,  while  out  of  the  throat  of  the  lad  came  a 
great  and  joyous  shout  of  laughter.  "I  knew  thee 
could  not,"  he  said.  "No  girl  that  ever  lived  could 
skip  a  stone !" 

And  then  he  threw  another  and  another,  and 
they  stood  enchanted  as  the  beautiful  circles  wid 
ened  away  from  their  centers  and  crossed  each 
other  in  ever-increasing  complexity  of  curve. 

Steven  did  his  best  to  teach  Pepeeta  this  very 
simple  art ;  but  after  many  failures,  she  exclaimed  : 

"Oh  dear,  I  shall  never  learn !  I  am  nothing  but 
a  woman  after  all !  Let  us  hasten  to  the  fishing 
pool,  perhaps  I  shall  do  better  there." 

"Don't  be  discouraged.  Thee  can  learn,  if  thee 
tries  long  enough!"  Steven  said  encouragingly, 
and  led  the  way  to  a  deep  pool  a  few  rods  farther 
up  the  river.  It  was  a  cool,  sequestered,  lovely 
spot.  Great  trees  overhung  it,  dark  waters  swirled 
swiftly  but  quietly  round  the  base  of  a  great  rock 
jutting  out  into  it;  little  bubbles  of  froth  glided 
dreamily  across  it  and  burst  on  its  edges ;  king 
fishers  dropped,  stone-like,  into  it  from  the  limbs  of 
a  dead  sycamore,  and  the  low,  deep  murmurs  of 
the  flood,  as  it  hurried  by,  whispered  inarticulately 
of  mysteries  too  deep  for  the  mind  of  man  to  com 
prehend.  Except  for  this  ceaseless  murmur,  silence 
brooded  over  the  place,  for  the  song-birds  had  hid- 


THE  LITTLE  LAD 


281 


den  themselves  in  the  wood,  and  the  two  intruders 
upon  the  sacred  privacy,  by  an  unconscious  sense 
of  fitness,  spoke  in  whispers. 

"Beautiful !"  said  Pepeeta. 

"Hush!  See  there!"  Steven  exclaimed,  in  an 
undertone,  and  pointing  to  a  spot  where  a  fish  had 
broken  the  still  surface  as  he  leaped  for  a  fly  and 
plunged  back  again  into  the  depths. 

His  eye  glowed,  and  his  whole  figure  vibrated 
with  excitement. 

"And  did  your  Uncle  David  used  to  bring  you 
here?"  Pepeeta  asked. 

"Well,  I  should  say,"  he  whispered.  "He  used 
to  bring  me  here  when  I  was  such  a  little  fellow 
that  he  sometimes  had  to  carry  me  on  his  back.  He 
was  the  greatest  fisherman  thee  ever  saw.  I  can 
not  fish  so  well  myself!" 

And  with  this  ingenuous  avowal,  at  which 
Pepeeta  smiled  appreciatively,  they  laid  their  bas 
kets  down,  and  Steven  began  preparing  the  rude 
tackle. 

"Did  thee  ever  bait  a  hook,  Pepeeta?"  he  asked 
under  his  breath. 

"I  never  did,  but  I  think  I  can,"  she  answered 
doubtfully. 

And  then  he  laughed  again,  not  loudly,  but  in  a 
fine  chuckle  which  gave  vent  to  his  joy  and  ex 
pressed  his  incredulity  in  a  manner  fitting  such 
solitude. 

"If  thee  cannot  skip  a  stone  I  should  like  to  know 
what  makes  thee  think  that  thee  can  bait  a  hook," 


282  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

he  said,  still  speaking  in  low  whispers.  "I  have 
seen  lots  of  girls  try  it,  but  I  never  saw  one  suc 
ceed.  Just  the  minute  they  touch  the  worm  they 
begin  to  squeal,  and  when  they  try  to  stick  it  on 
the  hook,  they  generally  have  a  sort  of  fit.  So  I 
guess  thee  had  better  not  try.  Just  let  me  do  it 
for  thee;  I'll  fix  it  just  as  my  Uncle  David  used 
to  for  me  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  and  helpless 
like  a  girl.  Pepeeta  laughed,  and  Steven  laughed 
with  her,  although  he  did  not  know  for  what,  and 
they  took  their  poles  and  sat  down  by  the  side  of  the 
stream,  the  child  intent  on  the  sport  and  the  woman 
intent  on  the  child. 

He  was  an  adept  in  that  gentle  art  which  has 
claimed  the  devotion  of  so  many  elect  spirits,  and 
gave  his  soul  up  to  his  work  with  an  entire  abandon. 
The  waters  were  seldom  disturbed  in  those  early 
days  when  the  country  was  sparsely  settled,  and  the 
fish  took  the  bait  recklessly.  One  after  another 
the  boy  flung  them  out  upon  the  bank  with  smoth 
ered  exclamations  of  delight,  with  which  he  mingled 
reproaches  and  sympathy  for  Pepeeta's  lack  of 
success. 

She  was  catching  fish  he  knew  not  of,  drawing 
them  one  by  one  out  of  the  deep  pools  of  memory 
and  imagination. 

There  is  one  thing  dearer  to  a  boy  than  catching 
fish.  That  is  cooking  and  eating  them. 

Hunger  began  at  last  to  gnaw  at  Steven's 
vitals  and  to  make  itself  imperatively  felt.  He 
looked  up  at  the  sun  as  if  to  tell  the  time  by  its 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  283 

location,  though  in  reality  he  regulated  his  move 
ments  by  that  infallible  horologue  ticking  beneath 
his  jacket. 

"It  must  be  after  twelve,"  he  said,  although  it 
was  not  yet  eleven. 

"Where  are  we  going  to  have  our  dinner?" 
Pepeeta  asked. 

"Come,  and  I  will  show  thee,"  he  replied,  fling 
ing  down  his  pole  and  gathering  his  fish  to 
gether. 

Pepeeta  followed  him  as  he  led  the  way  up  from 
the  river's  side  to  a  ledge  of  rocks  that  frowned 
above  it. 

Rounding  a  cliff,  they  came  suddenly  upon  the 
mouth  of  a  cave  where  Steven  threw  down  the 
fish,  assumed  an  air  of  secrecy,  took  Pepeeta  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  toward  it,  whispering: 

"This  is  the  robbers'  cave." 

"And  is  it  within  its  dark  recesses  that  we  are  to 
eat  our  dinner?"  Pepeeta  asked,  imitating  his  melo 
dramatic  manner. 

"Yes!  No  one  in  the  world  knows  of  it,  but 
Uncle  Dave  and  me.  We  always  used  to  cook  our 
dinner  here,  and  play  we  were  robbers." 

Pepeeta  saw  the  ashes  of  fires  which  had  been 
built  at  the  entrance,  an  old  iron  kettle  hang 
ing  on  a  projecting  root,  a  coffee  pot  standing  on 
a  ledge  of  a  rock,  and  fragments  of  broken  dishes 
scattered  about,  and  entered  with  all  her  heart  into 
an  adventure  so  suddenly  recalling  the  vanished 
scenes  of  her  gypsy  childhood.  The  eyes  of  the  boy 


284  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

glistened  with  delight  as  he  perceived  the  unmis 
takable  evidences  of  her  enjoyment. 

"And  so  this  is  your  secret!"  she  exclaimed. 

"Not  by  a  good  deal!"  he  answered,  "Thee  is 
not  to  know  the  real  secret  until  we  have  had  our 
dinner.  I  will  build  the  fire  and  clean  the  fish,  and 
if  thee  knows  how,  thee  can  cook  them." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  think  I  don't  know  anything — 
just  because  I  cannot  skip  stones  and  bait  hooks," 
Pepeeta  said  gaily,  and  with  that  they  both  bustled 
about  and  before  long  the  smoke  was  curling  up 
into  the  still  air,  and  the  fragrant  odor  of  coffee 
was  perfuming  the  wilderness. 

While  they  were  waiting  for  the  fish  to  fry, 
Pepeeta  regaled  her  enchanted  listener  with  such 
fragments  of  the  story  of  her  gypsy  life  as  she 
could  piece  together  out  of  the  wrecks  of  that  time. 
He  was  overpowered  with  astonishment,  and  the 
idea  that  he  was  sitting  opposite  to  a  real  gypsy,  at 
the  mouth  of  a  cave,  filled  up  the  measure  of  his 
romantic  fancy  and  perfected  his  happiness.  He 
hung  upon  her  words  and  kept  her  talking  until 
the  last  crust  had  been  devoured  and  she  had  re 
peated  again  and  again  the  most  trivial  remem 
brances  of  those  far  off  days. 

The  boy's  bliss  had  reached  its  utmost  limit,  and 
yet  had  not  surpassed  the  woman's.  The  vigorous 
walk  through  the  woods ;  the  silent  ministrations 
of  nature ;  the  simple  food ;  the  sweet  imaginative 
associations  with  David;  but  above  all  that 
most  recreative  force  in  nature, — the  presence  and 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  285 

prattle  of  a  child, — filled  her  sad  heart  with  a  happi 
ness  of  which  she  had  believed  herself  forever  in 
capable. 

They  sat  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  after 
Pepeeta  had  finished  one  of  her  most  charming  rem 
iniscences,  and  then  Steven,  springing  to  his  feet, 
exclaimed : 

"Why,  Pepeeta,  we  have  forgotten  the  secret! 
Come  and  I  will  show  it  to  thee." 

She  took  his  proffered  hand  and  was  led  into  the 
depths  of  the  cavern. 

"Thee  must  shut  thy  eyes,"  he  said. 

"Oh !  but  I  am  so  frightened/'  she  answered, 
pretending  to  shudder  and  draw  back. 

"Thee  need  not  be  afraid.  I  will  protect  thee," 
he  said,  reassuringly. 

She  obeyed  him,  and  they  moved  forward. 

"Are  thy  eyes  shut  tight?  How  many  fingers 
do  I  hold  up  ?"  he  asked,  raising  his  hand. 

"Six,"  she  answered. 

"All  right;  there  were  only  two,"  he  said,  con 
vinced  and  satisfied. 

He  led  her  along  a  dozen  steps  or  so,  and  then 
halted. 

'Turn  this  way,"  swinging  her  about;  "do  not 
open  thy  eyes  till  I  tell  thee.  There — now!" 

For  an  instant  the  darkness  seemed  impenetra 
ble;  but  there  was  enough  of  a  faint  light,  rather 
like  pale  belated  moonbeams  than  the  brightness 
of  the  sun,  to  enable  her  to  read  her  own  name 
carved  upon  the  smooth  wall  of  rock 


286  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Ah !  little  deceiver,  when  did  you  do  this  ?"  she 
asked,  touched  by  his  gallantry. 

"Do  this !  Why,  Pepeeta,  I  did  not  do  it,"  he 
answered,  surprised  and  taken  back  by  her  mis 
understanding. 

"You  did  not  do  it?"  she  asked,  astonished  in 
her  turn.  "Who  did  it  if  you  did  not?" 

"Why — can't  thee  guess  ?"  he  asked. 

And  then  it  slowly  dawned  upon  her  that  it  was 
the  work  of  her  lover,  done  in  those  days  when 
he  wandered  about  the  country  restless  and  tor 
mented  by  his  passion.  His  own  dear  hand  had 
traced  those  letters  on  the  rock ! 

She  kissed  them,  and  burst  into  tears. 

This  was  an  indescribable  shock  to  the  child,  who 
had  anticipated  a  result  so  different,  and  he  sprang 
to  her  side,  embraced  her  in  his  young  arms  and 
cried : 

"What  is  the  matter,  Pepeeta?  I  did  not  mean 
to  make  thee  sad;  I  meant  to  make  thee  happy! 
Oh,  do  not  cry !" 

"You  have  made  me  a  thousand  times  glad,  my 
dear  boy,"  she  said,  kissing  him  gratefully.  "You 
could  not  in  any  other  way  in  the  world  give  me 
such  happiness  as  this.  But  did  you  not  know 
that  we  can  cry  because  we  are  glad  as  well  as  be 
cause  we  are  sad?" 

"I  have  never  heard  of  that,"  he  answered  won- 
deringly. 

She  did  not  reply,  for  her  attention  reverted  to 
the  letters  on  the  wall  and  she  stood  feeding  her 


THE  LITTLE  LAD  287 

hungry  eyes  upon  that  indubitable  proof  of  the 
devotion  of  her  lover. 

The  child's  instinct  taught  him  the  sacredness 
of  the  privacy  of  grief  and  love.  He  freed  himself 
from  her  embrace,  slipped  out  of  the  cave  and  left 
her  alone.  She  laid  her  cheek  against  the  rude  let 
ters,  patted  them  with  her  hand,  and  kissed  them 
again  and  again.  It  was  bliss  to  know  that  she  had 
inspired  this  passion,  although  it  was  agony  to 
know  that  it  was  only  a  memory. 

The  remembrance  of  feasts  once  eaten  is  not  only 
no  solace  to  physical  hunger,  but  adds  unmitigated 
torment  to  it.  It  is  different  with  the  hunger  of 
the  heart,  which  finds  a  melancholy  alleviation  in 
feeding  upon  those  shadows  which  reality  has  left. 
The  food  is  bitter-sweet  and  the  alleviation  is  not 
satisfaction,  but  neither  is  it  starvation !  Probably 
a  real  interview  with  a  living,  present  lover,  would 
not  have  given  to  Pepeeta  that  intense,  though 
poignant,  happiness  which  transfigured  her  face 
when  she  came  forth  into  the  daylight  world,  and 
which  subdued  and  softened  the  noisy  welcome  of 
the  boy. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"Until  the  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee  away." 

—Song   of   Solomon. 

In  due  time  the  vessel  upon  which  David  had 
embarked  arrived  at  her  destination,  the  city  of 
New  York,  and  the  lonely  traveler  stepped  forth 
unnoticed  and  unknown  into  the  metropolis  of  the 
New  World. 

With  an  instinct  common  to  all  adventurers,  he 
made  his  way  to  the  Bowery,  that  thoroughfare 
whose  name  and  character  dispute  the  fame  of  the 
Corso,  the  Strand  and  the  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

Amid  its  perpetual  excitements  and  boundless 
opportunities  for  adventure,  David  resumed  the 
habits  formed  during  that  period  of  life  upon  which 
the  doors  had  now  closed.  His  reputation  had  fol 
lowed  him,  and  the  new  scenes,  the  physical  restor 
ation  during  the  long  voyage,  the  necessity  of  main 
taining  his  fame,  all  conspired  to  help  him  take 
a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  the  devotees  of  the 
gambling  rooms. 

He  did  his  best  to  enter  into  this  new  life  with 
enthusiasm,  but  it  had  no  power  to  banish  or  even 
to  allay  his  grief.  He  therefore  spent  most  of  his 
time  in  wandering  about  among  the  wonders  of 
the  swiftly-growing  city,  observing  her  busy  streets, 
her  crowded  wharfs,  her  libraries,  museums  and 

288 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  289 

parks.  This  moving  panorama  temporarily 
diverted  his  thoughts  from  that  channel  into  which 
they  ever  returned,  and  which  they  were  constant 
ly  wearing  deeper  and  deeper,  and  so  helped  him 
to  accomplish  the  one  aim  of  his  wretched  life, 
which  was  to  become  even  for  a  single  moment  un 
conscious  of  himself  and  of  his  misery. 

He  had  long  ceased  to  ponder  the  problems  of 
existence,  for  his  philosophy  of  life  had  reached  its 
goal  at  the  point  where  he  was  too  tired  and  bro 
ken-hearted  to  think.  He  could  hardly  be  said 
to  "live"  any  longer,  and  his  existence  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  vegetation.  Like  a  somnambulist,  he 
received  upon  the  pupils  of  his  eye  impressions 
which  did  not  awaken  a  response  in  his  reason. 

If  any  general  conceptions  at  all  were  being 
formed  he  was  unconscious  of  them.  What  he 
really  thought  of  the  phenomena  of  life  upon  which 
he  thus  blindly  stared,  he  could  not  have  definitely 
told;  but  in  some  vague  way  he  felt  as  he  gazed 
at  the  multitudes  of  human  beings  swarming 
through  the  streets,  that  all  were,  like  himself,  the 
victims  of  some  insane  folly  which  had  precipitated 
them  into  some  peculiar  form  of  misery  or  crime. 

And  so,  as  he  peered  into  their  faces,  he  would 
catch  himself  wondering  what  wrong  this  man  had 
done,  what  sin  that  woman  had  committed,  and 
what  sorrow  each  was  suffering.  That  all  must 
be  in  some  secret  way  guilty  and  miserable,  he  could 
not  doubt,  for  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  in 
this  world  of  darkness  and  disorder,  any  one  should 


290  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

have  been  able  to  escape  being  deceived  and  vic 
timized.  **Xo  man,*' he  thoug  .  pick  his  way 
over  all  these  hot  plowshares  without  stepping  on 
some  of  them.  None  can  run  this  horrible  gauntlet 
without  being  somewhere  struck  and  wounded. 
\Yhat  has  befallen  me,  has  in  some  form  or  other 
befallen  them  all.  They  are  trying,  just  as  I  am, 
to  conceal  their  sorrows  and  their  crimes  from  each 
other.  There  is  nothing  else  to  do.  There  is  no  such 
thing  as  happiness.  There  is  nothing  but  deception. 
Some  of  the  keener  ones  see  through  my  mask  as  I 
see  through  theirs.  And  yet  some  of  them  smile  and 
look  as  gay  as  if  they  were  really  happy.  Perhaps 
I  can  throw  off  this  weight  that  is  crushing  me,  as 
they  have  thrown  off  theirs — if  I  try  a  little  harder." 
Such  were  the  reflections  which  revolved  ceaselessly 
within  his  brain. 

But  his  efforts  were  in  vain.  In  this  life  he  had 
but  a  single  consolation,  and  that  was  in  a  friend 
ship  which  from  its  nature  did  not  and  could  not 
become  an  intimacy. 

Among  the  many  acquaintances  he  had  made  in 
that  realm  of  life  to  which  his  vices  and  his  crimes 
had  consigned  him,  a  single  person  had  awakened 
in  his  bosom  emotions  of  interest  and  regard. 
There  was  in  that  circle  of  silent,  terrible,  remorse- 
parasites  of  society,  a  young  man  whose  classi 
cal  face,  exquisite  manners  and  varied  accomplish 
ments  set  him  apart  from  all  the  others.  He  moved 
among  them  like  a  ghost, — mysterious,  uncom 
municative  and  unapproachable. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  291 

He  had  inspired  in  his  compani  rt  of  un 

acknowledged  respect,  from  the  superiority  of  his 
professional  code  of  ethics,  for  he  never  preyed 
the  innocent,  the  weak,  or  the  helpless,  and 
gambled  only  with  the  rich  or  the  crafty.    He  vie 
wed  the  victimizers,  and  signalized  his  triumph 
with  a  mocking  smile  in  which  there  was  no  trace  of 
bitterness,  but  only  a  gentle  and  humorous  irony. 
From   the   time  of  their  first  meeting  he  had 
treated  David  in  an  exceptional  manner.     In  un- 

;  kindn  ; 

and  proffere-I  Ivances  of  friendship, 

and  not   many   months    ;  before    the    two 

lonely,  n  :racized  men  united  their 

ries  in  a  -rnal  par. 

-.%  in  common  apar: 

The  most  marked  characteristic  of  this  restricted 
friendship  was  a  disp  i  to  respect  the  privacy 

of  each  other's  lives  and  thoughts.  In  all  their 
intercourse  through  the  year  in  which  they  had 
been  thus  associated  they  hac  :heir 

personal  affairs  upon  each  oth  •  into  each 

other's  secre 

There  was  in  F  I  lantel  a  sort  of  sarc  - 

humor  into  which  he  was  alw'_ 

In  one  of  their  infrequent  . 
:ompanions  had  grown  unusually  confidential 
found  thems  !  ::ing  a  little  I  r  that 

I  dangerous  of  a'.  I  in  the  lives  of  such 

men — the  pa 
-With  a  swift,  instinctive  movement  both  of  them 


292  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

turned  away.  Each  read  in  the  other's  face  con 
sciousness  of  the  impossibility  of  discussing  those 
experiences  through  which  they  had  come  to  be 
what  they  were.  Such  men  guard  the  real  history 
of  their  lives  and  the  real  emotions  of  their  hearts 
as  jealously  as  the  combinations  of  their  cards.  The 
old,  ironical  smile  lighted  up  Mantel's  features,  and 
he  said: 

"We  seem  to  have  a  violent  antipathy  to  thin  ice, 
Davy,  and  skate  away  from  it  as  soon  as  it  begins 
to  crack  a  little  beneath  our  feet." 

"Yes,"  said  his  friend,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"it  is  not  pleasant  to  fall  through  the  crust  of 
friendship.  There  is  a  sub-element  in  every  life 
V  a  too  sudden  plunge  into  which  might  result  in  a 
\  fatal  chill.  We  had  all  better  keep  on  the  surface. 
\  I  am  frank  enough  to  say  that  the  less  any  one 
knows  about  my  past,  the  better  I  shall  be  satis 
fied." 

"I  wish  that  I  could  keep  my  own  self  from  in 
vading  that  realm  as  easily  as  I  can  keep  others! 
Why  is  it  that  no  man  has  ever  yet  been  able  to 
'let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead'?  It  seems  a  rea 
sonable  demand." 

"He  is  a  poor  sexton — this  old  man,  the  Past.  I 
have  watched  him  at  his  work,  and  he  is  powerless 
to  dig  his  own  grave,  however  many  others  he  may 
have  excavated !" 

"The  Present  seems  as  helpless  as  the  Past.  I 
wonder  if  the  future  will  heap  enough  new  events 
over  old  ones  to  hide  them  from  view?" 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  293 

"Let  a  shadow  bury  the  sun !  Let  a  wave  bury 
the  sea,"  answered  David  bitterly. 

"I  am  afraid  you  take  life  too  seriously,"  said 
Mantel,  on  whose  face  appeared  that  inexplicable 
smile  behind  which  he  constantly  retired.  "For, 
after  all,  life  is  nothing  but  a  jest — a  grim  one,  to 
be  sure,  but  still  a  jest.  The  great  host  who  enter 
tains  us  in  the  banqueting  hall  of  the  universe  must 
have  his  fun  as  well  as  any  one,  and  we  must  laugh 
at  his  jokes  even  when  they  are  at  our  expense. 
This  is  the  least  that  guests  can  do." 

"What,  even  when  they  writhe  with  pain?" 

"Why  not?  We  all  have  our  fun!  You  used 
to  scare  timid  little  girls  with  jack-lanterns,  put 
duck  eggs  under  the  old  hen,  and  tie  tin  cans  to 
dogs'  tails.  Where  did  you  learn  these  tricks,  if 
not  from  the  great  Trickmaster  himself?  Humor  is 
hereditary!  We  get  it  from  a  divine  original,  and 
the  Archetypal  Joker  must  have  His  fun.  It  is 
better  to  take  His  horseplay  in  good  part.  We  can 
not  stop  Him,  and  we  may  as  well  laugh  at  what 
amuses  Him.  There  is  just  as  much  fun  in  it  as  a 
fellow  is  able  to  see !" 

"Then  there  is  none,  for  I  cannot  see  any.  But  if 
you  get  the  comfort  you  seem  to  out  of  this  philo 
sophy  of  yours,  I  envy  you.  What  do  you  call  it? 
There  ought  to  be  a  name  for  a  metaphysic  which 
seems  to  comprehend  all  the  complex  phenomena 
of  life  in  one  single,  simple,  principle  of  humor!" 
"How  would  'will-o'-the-wispism'  do?  There  is 
a  sort  of  elusive  element  in  life,  you  see.  Nature 


294  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

has  no  goal,  yet  leads  us  along  the  pathway  by 
shows,  enchantments  and  promises.  She  pays  us 
in  checks  which  she  never  cashes.  She  holds  out 
a  glittering  prize,  persuades  us  that  it  is  worth  any 
sacrifice,  and  when  we  make  it,  the  bubble  bursts, 
the  sword  descends,  and  you  hear  a  low  chuckle." 

"You  have  described  her  method  well  enough, 
but  how  is  it  that  you  get  your  fun  out  of  your 
knowledge  ?" 

"It  is  the  illusion  itself!  The  boy  chasing  the 
rainbow  is  happier  than  the  man  counting  his 
gold !" 

"But  what  of  that  dreadful  day  of  disenchant 
ment  when  the  illusion  no  longer  deceives?" 

"Ha!  ha!  Why,  just  put  on  your  mask  and 
smile.  You  can  'make  believe'  you  are  happy, 
can't  you?" 

"I  have  got  beyond  that,"  David  answered  sav 
agely.  "I  am  not  sitting  for  my  picture  to  this 
great,  grim  artist  friend  of  yours,  who  first  sticks  a 
knife  into  me,  and  then  tells  me  to  look  pleasant 
that  he  may  photograph  me  for  his  gallery  of 
fools !  I  am  tired  of  shams  and  make-believes. 
Life  is  a  hideous  mockery,  and  I  say  plainly  that  I 
loathe  and  abhor  it !" 

"Tush,  tush,  whatever  else  you  do  or  do  not  do, 
keep  sweet,  David !  Whom  the  gods  would  destroy 
they  first  make  mad !  You  take  yourself  and  your 
life  too  seriously,  I  tell  you.  Everything  will  go 
its  own  way  whether  you  want  it  to  or  not !  I  used 
to  read  the  classics,  once,  and  some  fragments  of 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  295 

those  old  fellows'  sublime  philosophy  are  still  fresh 
in  my  memory.  There  is  a  scrap  in  one  of  the 
Greek  tragedies — the  Oedipus,  I  think,  that  has 
always  kept  running  through  my  head: 

"  'Why  should  we  fear,  when  Chance  rules  everything, 

And  foresight  of  the  future  there  is  none? 

'Tis  best  to  live  at  random  as  we  can! 

But  thou,  fear  not  that  marriage  with  thy  mother! 

Many,  ere  now,  have  dreamed  of  things  like  this, 

But  who  cares  least  about  them,  bears  life  best!' 

"There  is  wisdom  for  you !  'Who  cares  least 
about  them  bears  life  best !'  It's  my  philosophy  in 
a  nut-shell." 

"Look  here,  Mantel,"  said  David,  "your  philo 
sophy  may  be  all  right,  provided  a  man  has  not 
done  a — provided — provided  a  man  has  not  com 
mitted  a-a  crime !  I  don't  care  anything  about  your 
past  in  detail;  but  unless  you  have  done  some 
deed  that  hangs  around  your  neck  like  a  mill-stone, 
you  don't  know  anything  about  the  subject  you  are 
discussing." 

Mantel  dropped  his  eyes,  and  sat  in  silence.  For 
the  first  time  since  David  had  known  him,  his  fine 
face  gave  some  genuine  revelation  of  the  emotions 
of  his  soul.  Great  tears  gathered  in  his  eyes,  and 
his  lips  trembled.  In  a  moment,  he  arose,  took  his 
hat,  laid  his  hand  gently  upon  the  arm  of  his 
friend,  and  said  "David,  my  dear  fellow,  we  are 
skating  on  that  thin  ice  again.  We  shall  fall  through 
if  we  are  not  careful,  and  get  that  chill  you  were 
talking  about.  Let's  go  out  and  take  a  walk.  Life 
is  too  deep  for  either  you  or  me  to  fathom.  I  gave 


296  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

it  up  as  a  bad  job  long  ago.  What  you  just  said 
about  having  a  knife  stuck .  into  you  comes  the 
nearest  to  my  own  notion.  I  feel  a  good  deal  as 
I  fancy  a  butterfly  must  when  he  has  been  inter 
cepted  in  a  gay  and  joyous  flight  and  stuck  against 
the  wall  with  a  sharp  pin,  among  a  million  other 
specimens  which  the  great  entomologist  has  gath 
ered  for  some  purpose  which  no  one  but  himself 
can  understand.  All  I  try  to  do  is  to  smile  enough 
to  cover  up  my  contortions.  Come,  let  us  go.  We 
need  the  air." 

They  went  down  into  the  streets  and  lost  them 
selves  in  the  busy  crowd  of  care-encumbered  men. 
Half  unconscious  of  the  throngs  which  jostled  them, 
they  strolled  along  Broadway,  occasionally  pausing 
to  gaze  into  a  shop  window,  to  rest  on  a  seat  in  a 
park,  to  listen  to  a  street  musician,  or  to  watch 
some  passing  incident  in  the  great  panorama  which 
is  ever  unrolling  itself  in  that  brilliant  and  fascinat 
ing  avenue. 

Suddenly  Mantel  was  startled  by  an  abrupt 
change  in  the  manner  of  his  companion,  who  paused 
and  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  pavement,  while  his 
great  blue  eyes  opened  beyond  their  natural  width 
with  a  fixed  stare. 

Following  the  direction  of  their  gaze,  Mantel 
saw  that  they  were  fixed  on  a  blind  beggar  who 
sat  on  a  stool  at  the  edge  of  the  sidewalk,  silent 
and  motionless  like  an  old  snag  on  the  bank  of  a 
river — the  perpetual  stream  of  human  life  forever 
flowing  by.  His  head  was  bare ;  in  his  outstretched 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  297 

hand  he  held  a  tin  cup  which  jingled  now  and  then 
as  some  compassionate  traveler  dropped  him  a  coin ; 
by  his  side,  looking  up  occasionally  into  his  un 
responsive  eyes,  was  a  little  terrier,  his  solitary  com 
panion  and  guide  in  a  world  of  perpetual  night. 

The  face  of  the  man  was  a  remarkable  one, 
judged  by  almost  any  standard.  It  was  large  in 
size,  strong  in  outline,  and  although  he  was  a  beg 
gar,  it  wore  an  expression  of  power,  of  independ 
ence  and  resolution  like  that  of  another  Belisarius. 
But  the  feature  which  first  arrested  and  longest  held 
attention,  was  an  enormous  mustache.  It  could 
not  have  been  less  than  fourteen  inches  from  tip  to 
tip,  was  carefully  trimmed  and  trained,  and  although 
the  man  himself  was  still  comparatively  young,  was 
white  as  snow.  Occasionally  he  set  his  cup  on  his 
knee  and  with  both  hands  twisted  the  ends  into 
heavy  ropes. 

It  was  a  striking  face  and  exacted  from  every 
observer  more  than  a  passing  look ;  but  remark 
able  as  it  was,  Mantel  could  not  discover  any  rea 
son  for  the  strained  and  terrible  interest  of  his 
companion,  who  stood  staring  so  long  and  in  such 
a  noticeable  way,  that  he  was  in  danger  of  himself 
attracting  the  attention  of  the  curious  crowd. 

Seeing  this,  Mantel  took  him  by  the  arm.  "What 
is  the  matter?"  he  asked. 

David  started.  "My  God,"  he  cried,  drawing  his 
hand  over  his  eyes  like  a  man  awakening  from  a 
dream;  "it  is  he!" 

"It  is  who  ?    Are  you  mad !  Come  away !  People 


298  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

are  observing  you.  If  there  is  anything  wrong,  we 
must  move  or  get  into  trouble." 

"Let  me  alone !"  David  replied,  shaking  off  his 
hand.  "I  would  rather  die  than  lose  sight  of  that 
man." 

"Then  come  into  this  doorway  where  you  can 
watch  him  unobserved,  for  you  are  making  a  spec 
tacle  of  yourself.  Come,  or  I  shall  drag  you." 

With  his  eyes  still  riveted  on  that  strange  coun 
tenance,  David  yielded  to  the  pressure  of  his  friend's 
hand  and  they  retired  to  a  hallway  whence  he  could 
watch  the  beggar  unobserved.  His  whole  frame 
was  quivering  with  excitement  and  he  kept  mur 
muring  to  himself:  "It  is  he.  It  is  he!  I  cannot 
be  mistaken  !  Nature  never  made  his  double !  But 
how  he  has  changed !  How  old  and  white  he  is ! 
It  cannot  be  his  ghost,  can  it?  If  it  were  night  I 
might  think  so,  but  it  is  broad  daylight !  This  man 
is  living  flesh  and  blood  and  my  hand  is  not,  after 
all,  the  hand  of  a  mur — " 

"Hush !"  cried  Mantel ;   "you  are  talking  aloud !" 

"Yes,  I  am  talking  aloud,"  he  answered,  "and 
I  mean  to  talk  louder  yet!  I  want  you  to  hear 
that  I  am  not  a  murderer,  a  murderer!  Do  you 
understand?  I  am  going  to  rush  out  into  the 
streets  to  cry  out  at  the  top  of  my  voice — I  am  not 
a  murderer!" 

Terrified  at  his  violence,  Mantel  pushed  him 
farther  back  into  the  doorway;  but  he  sprang  out 
again  as  if  his  very  life  depended  upon  the  sight  of 
the  great  white  face. 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  299 

"Be  quiet !"  Mantel  cried,  seizing  his  arm  with  an 
iron  grip. 

The  pain  restored  him  to  his  senses.  "What  did 
I  say?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"You  said,  'I  am  not  a  murderer/  "  Mantel  whis 
pered. 

"And  it  is  true !  I  am  not !"  he  replied,  with  but 
little  less  violence  than  before. 

"Look  at  this  hltnd,  Mantel !  I  have  not  looked 
at  it  myself  for  more  than  three  years  without  see 
ing  spots  of  blood  on  it!  And  now  it  looks  as 
white  as  snow  to  me!  See  how  firm  I  can  hold 
it!  And  yet  through  all  those  long  and  terrible 
years,  it  has  trembled  like  a  leaf.  Tell  me,  am  I 
not  right?  Is  it  not  white  and  firm?" 

"Yes,  yes.  It  is ;  but  hush.  You  are  in  danger 
of  being  overheard,  and  if  you  are  not  careful,  in 
a  moment  more  we  shall  be  in  the  hands  of  the 
police!" 

"No  matter  if  I  am,"  he  cried,  almost  beside  him 
self,  and  rapturously  embracing  his  friend.  "Noth 
ing  could  give  me  more  pleasure  than  a  trial  for 
my  crime,  for  my  victim  would  be  my  witness  !  He 
is  not  dead.  He  is  out  there  in  the  street.  Mantel, 
you  don't  know  what  happiness  is !  You  don't 
know  how  sweet  it  is  to  be  alive !  A  mountain  has 
been  taken  from  my  shoulders.  I  no  longer  have 
any  secret!  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story  of  my 
life,  now." 

"Not  now;  but  later  on,  when  we  are  alone. 
Let  us  leave  this  spot  and  go  to  our  rooms." 


300  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"No,  no  !  Don't  stir !  We  might  lose  him,  and 
if  we  did,  I  could  never  persuade  myself  that  this 
was  not  a  dream  I  We  will  stay  here  until  he  leaves, 
and  then  we  will  follow  him  and  prove  beyond  a 
doubt  that  this  is  a  real  man  and  not  the  vision  of 
an  overheated  brain.  We  will  follow  him,  I  say, 
and  if  he  is  really  flesh  and  blood,  and  not  a  poor 
ghost,  we  will  help  him,  you  and  I.  Poor  old  man ! 
How  sad  he  looks !  And  no  wonder !  You  don't 
know  of  what  I  robbed  him!" 

David  had  now  grown  more  quiet,  and  they  stood 
patiently  waiting  for  the  time  to  come  when  the 
old  beggar  should  leave  his  post  and  retire  to  his 
home,  if  home  he  had. 

•At  last  he  received  his  signal  for  departure.    A 
shadow  fell  from  the  roof  of  the  tall  building  oppo 
site,  upon  the  pupil  of  an  eye,  which  perhaps  felt 
Jthe  darkness  it  could  not  see.     The  building  was 
iiis  dial.     Like  millions  of  his  fellow  creatures,  he 
^neasured  life  by  advancing  shadows. 

He  arose,  and  in  his  mien  and  movements  there 
was  a  certain  majesty.  Placing  his  hat  upon  his 
storm-beaten  head,  he  folded  the  camp-chair  under 
his  arm,  took  the  leading  string  in  his  hand  and 
followed  the  little  dog,  who  began  picking  his  way 
with  fine  care  through  the  surging  crowd. 

Behind  him  at  a  little  distance  walked  the  two 
gamblers,  pursuing  him  like  a  double  shadow.  A 
bloodhound  could  not  have  been  more  eager  than 
David  was.  He  trembled  if  an  omnibus  cut  off  his 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  301 

view  for  a  single  instant,  and  shuddered  if  the 
beggar  turned  a  corner. 

Unconscious  of  all  this,  the  dog  and  his  master 
wended  their  way  homeward.  They  crawled  slowly 
and  quietly  across  a  street  over  which  thundered  an 
endless  procession  of  vehicles;  they  moved  like 
snails  through  the  surf  of  the  ocean  of  life.  Arriv 
ing  at  length  at  the  door  of  a  wretched  tenement 
house,  the  blind  man  and  his  dog  entered. 

As  he  noted  the  squalor  of  the  place,  David 
murmured  to  himself,  "Poor  old  man!  How  low 
he  has  fallen!" 

Several  minutes  passed  in  silence,  while  he  stood 
reflecting  on  the  doctor's  misery,  his  own  new 
happiness  and  the  opportunities  and  duties  which 
the  adventure  had  opened  and  imposed.  At  last 
he  said  to  his  friend,  "Do  you  know  where  we  are? 
I  was  so  absorbed  that  I  didn't  notice  our  route 
at  all." 

"Yes,"  Mantel  answered.  "I  have  marked  every 
turn  of  the  way." 

"Could  you  find  the  place  again?" 

"Without  the  slightest  difficulty." 

"Be  sure,  for  if  you  wish  to  help  me,  as  I  think 
you  do,  you  will  have  to  come  often.  I  have  made 
my  plans  in  the  few  moments  in  which  I  have  been 
standing  here,  and  am  determined  to  devote  my 
life,  if  need  be,  to  this  poor  creature  whom  I  have 
so  wronged.  I  must  get  him  out  of  this  filthy  hole 
into  some  cheerful  place.  I  will  atone  for  the  past 
if  I  can!  Atone!  What  a  word  that  is!  With 


302  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

what  stunning  force  its  meaning  dawns  upon  me! 
How  many  times  I  have  heard  and  uttered  it  with 
out  comprehension.  But  somehow  I  now  see  in 
it  a  revelation  of  the  sweetest  possibility  of  life. 
Oh!  I  am  a  changed  man;  I  will  make  atone 
ment!  Come,  let  us  go.  I  am  anxious  to  be 
gin.  But  no,  I  must  proceed  with  caution.  How 
do  I  know  that  this  is  his  permanent  home? 
He  may  be  only  lodging  for  the  night,  and 
when  you  come  to-morrow,  he  may  be  gone! 
Go  in,  Mantel,  and  make  sure  that  we  shall  find 
him  here  to-morrow.  Go,  and  while  you  find  out 
all  you  can  about  him,  I  will  begin  to  search  for 
such  a  place  as  I  want  to  put  him  in.  We  will  part 
for  the  present;  but  when  we  meet  to-night  we 
shall  have  much  to  talk  about.  I  will  tell  you  the 
whole  of  this  long  and  bitter  story.  I  am  so  happy, 
Mantel.  You  can't  understand !  I  have  something 
to  live  for  now.  I  will  work,  oh,  you  do  not  know 
how  I  will  work  to  make  this  atonement.  What  a 
word  it  is!  It  is  music  to  my  ears.  Atonement!" 

And  so  in  the  lexicon  of  human  experience  he 
had  at  last  discovered  the  meaning  of  one  of  the 
great  words  of  our  language.  After  all,  experience 
is  the  only  exhaustive  dictionary,  and  the  defini 
tions  it  contains  are  the  only  ones  which  really 
burn  themselves  into  the  mind  or  fully  interpret 
the  significances  of  life. 

To  every  man  language  is  a  kind  of  fossil  poetry, 
until  experience  makes  those  dry  bones  live! 
Words  are  mere  faded  metaphors,  pressed  like 


OUT  OF  THE  SHADOW  3°3 

dried  flowers  in  old  and  musty  volumes,  until  a 
blow  upon  our  heads,  a  pang  in  our  hearts,  a 
strain  on  our  nerves,  the  whisper  of  a  maid,  the 
voice  of  a  little  child,  turns  them  into  living  blos 
soms  of  odorous  beauty. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

IF  THINE   ENEMY   HUNGER 

"Whatever  the  number  of  a  man's  friends,  there  will  be  times 
in  his  life  when  he  has  one  too  few;  but  if  he  has  only  one 
enemy,  he  is  lucky  indeed  if  he  has  not  one  too  many." 

— Bulwer-Lytton. 

The  blow  struck  by  David  had  stunned  the 
doctor,  but  had  not  killed  him.  He  lay  in  the 
road  until  a  slave,  passing  that  way,  picked  him 
up  and  carried  him  to  a  neighboring  planta 
tion,  where  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  people  who 
in  the  truest  sense  of  the  word  were  good  Sama 
ritans.  Their  hospitality  was  tested  to  the  utmost, 
for  he  lay  for  weeks  in  a  stupor,  and  when  he 
recovered  consciousness  his  reason  had  undergone 
a  strange  eclipse.  For  a  long  time  he  could  not 
recall  a  single  event  in  his  history  and  when  at  last 
some  of  the  most  prominent  began  to  re-present 
themselves  to  his  view  it  was  vaguely  and  slowly, 
as  mountain-peaks  and  hill-tops  break  through  a 
morning  mist.  This  was  not  the  only  result  of  the 
blow  which  his  rival  had  struck  him;  it  had  left 
him  totally  blind.  Nothing  could  have  been  more 
pitiful  than  the  sight  of  this  once  strong  man,  more 
helpless  than  an  infant,  sitting  in  the  sun  where  kind 
hands  had  placed  him.  Months  elapsed  before  he 
regained  anything  that  could  be  called  a  clear  con 
ception  of  the  past.  It  did  at  length  return,  how 
ever.  Slowly,  but  with  terrible  distinctness  he 

304 


IF  THINE   ENEMY   HUNGER  3°5 

recalled  the  events  which  preceded  and  brought 
about  this  tragedy.  And  as  he  reflected  upon  them, 
jealousy,  hatred  and  revenge  boiled  in  his  soul  and 
finally  crystallized  into  the  single  desperate  pur 
pose  to  find  and  crush  the  man  who  had  wrecked 
his  life. 

He  kept  his  story  to  himself;  but  made  furtive 
inquiries  of  his  new-found  friends  and  of  the  slaves 
and  neighbors,  none  of  which  enabled  him  to  dis 
cover  the  slightest  clue  to  the  fugitives.  So  far  as 
he  could  learn,  the  earth  might  have  opened  and 
swallowed  them,  and  so  when  he  had  exhausted 
the  sources  of  information  in  the  region  where  the 
accident  occurred,  he  determined  to  go  elsewhere. 

Refusing  the  kind  offers  of  a  permanent  refuge  in 
the  home  of  these  hospitable  Kentuckians,  he  made 
his  way  back  to  Cincinnati,  where  he  hoped  not  only 
to  find  traces  of  the  fugitives,  but  to  recover  the 
jewels  which  Pepeeta  had  left  behind  her  on  the 
table,  and  which  in  his  frantic  haste  he  had  for 
gotten  to  take  with  him. 

He  learned  the  history  of  the  jewels  in  a  few 
short  hours.  Not  long  after  his  own  sudden  dis 
appearance  and  that  of  David  and  Pepeeta,  the 
judge  had  called  at  the  hotel  with  an  order  for  his 
property.  The  unsuspecting  landlord  had  honored 
it,  and  the  judge  not  long  afterward  left  for  parts 
unknown. 

This  discovery  not  only  turned  his  rage  to  frenzy, 
but  increased  his  difficulties  a  hundred  fold.  With 
out  friends  and  without  money,  he  set  himself  to 


306  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

attain  revenge.  Before  a  purpose  so  resolute,  many 
obstacles  at  once  gave  way,  and  although  he  could 
find  no  traces  of  David  and  Pepeeta,  he  discovered 
that  the  judge  had  fled  to  New  York  City,  and 
thither  he  determined  to  go. 

Procuring  a  little  terrier,  through  the  charity 
of  strangers,  he  trained  him  to  be  his  guide,  and 
started  on  his  pilgrimage.  Many  weeks  were  con 
sumed  in  the  journey  and  many  more  in  hopeless 
efforts  to  discover  the  thief.  Through  the  aid  of 
an  old  Cincinnati  friend  whom  he  accidentally  en 
countered  he  located  the  fugitive  at  last;  but  in 
a  cemetery!  Ill-gotten  wealth  had  precipitated 
the  final  disaster,  for  having  turned  the  diamonds 
into  money  the  fugitive  entered  upon  a  debauch 
which  terminated  in  a  horrible  death.  At  the  side 
of  a  grave  in  the  potter's  field,  the  sexton  one  day 
saw  a  blind  man  leaning  on  a  cane.  After  a  long 
silence,  he  stooped  down,  felt  carefully  over  the 
low  ground  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  something, 
then  rose,  lifted  his  cane  to  heaven,  waved  it  wildly, 
muttered  what  sounded  like  imprecations,  and  soon 
after  followed  a  little  terrier  to  the  gate  of  the  cem 
etery  and  disappeared. 

It  was  the  doctor.  One  of  his  enemies  had  escaped 
him  forever,  and  the  trail  of  the  others  seemed 
hopelessly  lost  in  the  darkness  which  had  settled 
down  upon  him.  There  was  nothing  left  for  him 
but  to  beg  his  living  and  impotently  nourish  his 
hate.  ' ' 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
A  MAN  CROSSED  WITH  ADVERSITY 

"One   sole   desire,    one   passion    now   remains 
To    keep    life's    fever    still    within    his    veins, 
Vengeance!    dire    vengeance    on   the    wretch    who    cast 
O'er   him   and  all  he   loved  that  ruinous  blast." 

— Lalla  Hooka. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  David  returned 
to  his  apartments,  excited,  triumphant,  eager. 

"Well,"  he  cried,  rushing  impetuously  up  to  Man 
tel,  who  stood  waiting  for  him.  "Is  he  still  there? 
Is  that  place  really  his  home?" 

"Yes,"  his  friend  answered ;  "he  has  lived  there 
for  more  than  a  year,  in  solitude  and  poverty.  His 
health  is  very  poor  and  he  is  growing  steadily 
weaker.  He  has  declined  so  much  recently  that 
now  he  does  not  venture  out  until  the  afternoon." 

"Feeble,  is  he?  Poor  old  man!"  exclaimed 
David.  "But  at  least  he  is  not  dead,  and  while 
there  is  life  there  is  hope!  I  am  not  a  mur 
derer,  and  there  is  a  possibility  of  my  making 
atonement !  How  I  cling  to  that  idea,  Mantel !  In 
a  single  hour  I  have  enjoyed  more  happiness  than 
I  thought  a  whole  lifetime  could  contain.  But  even 
in  this  indescribable  happiness  there  is  a  strange 
element  of  unrest,  for  it  seems  too  good  to  last. 
Is  all  great  gladness  haunted  by  this  apprehension 
of  evanescence  ?  But  at  any  rate,  I  am  happy  now !" 
anT  almost  happy  in  your  happiness," 
307 


308  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

responded  his  friend,  his  face  lighted  up  by  an 
altogether  new  and  beautiful  smile. 

''Sit  down,  then,"  said  David,  giving  him  a  chair 
and  standing  opposite  to  him,  ''and  I  will  tell  you 
my  story." 

Words  cannot  describe  the  emotion,  nay  the  pas 
sion,  with  which  he  poured  that  tragic  narrative 
into  the  ears  of  his  eager  and  sympathetic  listener. 

Never  was  a  story  told  to  a  more  attentive  and 
appreciative  auditor.  There  must  have  been  some 
buried  sorrow  in  that  heart  which  had  rendered 
it  sensitive  to  the  griefs  of  others.  Hours  were 
consumed  by  this  narrative  and  by  the  questions 
which  had  to  be  asked  and  answered,  and  it  was 
long  after  midnight  when  David  found  time  to 
say,  "And  now  shall  I  tell  you  my  plans  for  the 
future?" 

"Yes,  if  you  will/'  said  Mantel. 

"Well,  I  have  rented  a  sunny  room  in  a  lodg 
ing  house  in  a  quiet  street,  and  to-morrow,  if 
you  are  willing,  you  shall  go  and  lead  him  to  it. 
I  must  lean  upon  you,  Mantel;  I  dare  not  make 
myself  known  to  him.  He  would  never  accept 
my  aid  if  he  knew  by  whom  it  was  bestowed* 
for  he  is  proud  and  revengeful  and  would  give 
himself  no  rest  night  or  day  until  he  had  my  life, 
if  he  knew  I  was  within  reach.  I  do  not  fear 
him;  but  what  good  could  come  of  his  wreaking 
vengeance  on  me,  richly  as  I  deserve  it?  It 
would  only  make  his  destiny  more  dark  and  dread 
ful,  and  defeat  the  oue  chance  I  have  of  making  an 


A  MAN  CROSSED  WITH  ADVERSITY     309 

atonement.  You  do  not  think  I  ought  to  make 
myself  known,  do  you?" 

"I  do  not.  I  think  with  you  that  an  atonement 
is  the  most  perfect  satisfaction  of  justice." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  my  dear  friend.  You 
do  not  know  how  glad  I  am  to  have  you  think  I 
am  doing  right.  You  will  go  to  him  to-morrow, 
then,  and  you  will  tell  him  that  some  one  who  has 
seen  him  on  the  streets  has  taken  compassion  on 
him.  You  will  do  this,  will  you  not?" 

"Nothing  could  give  me  greater  pleasure.  I  half 
feel  as  if  I  had  participated  with  you  in  the  wrong 
done  to  the  old  man,  and  that  I  shall  be  blessed 
with  you  in  trying  to  make  it  right." 

'That  is  good  in  you,  Mantel.  How  much  no 
bility  lies  buried  in  every  human  heart!  It  may  be 
that  even  such  men  as  you  and  I  are  capable  of 
some  sort  of  rescue  and  redemption.  I  am  going 
to  spend  my  best  strength  in  working  for  this  poor 
old  blind  beggar  whom  I  have  wronged.  I  mean 
to  toil  for  him  like  a  galley  slave,  and  mark  me, 
Mantel,  it  is  going  to  be  honest  toil!" 

"Honest,  did  you  say?"  asked  Mantel,  lifting  his 
eyebrows  incredulously. 

"Yes,"  David  answered,  "honest.  This  hope 
that  has  come  to  me  has  wrought  a  great  change 
in  my  heart.  It  has  revived  old  feelings  which  I 
thought  long  dead.  If  there  is  a  God  in  heaven 
who  has  decided  to  give  me  one  more  chance  to  set 
myself  right,  I  am  going  to  take  it!  And  listen; 
if  this  great  hope  can  come  to  me,  why  not  to  you?'* 


310  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Mantel  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  a  moment, 
and  then  answered  with  a  sigh,  "Perhaps — but,"  and 
paused. 

There  are  moments  when  these  two  indefinite 
words  contain  the  whole  of  our  philosophy  of  ex 
istence.  "I  am  going  to  seek  the  great  Perhaps !" 
said  Rabelais,  as  he  breathed  his  last. 

David  looked  at  him  sympathetically  and  said, 
"Well,  it  is  not  strange  that  you  cannot  feel  as  I 
do.  It  is  not  by  what  befalls  others,  but  by  what 
befalls  ourselves,  that  we  learn  to  hope  and 
trust." 

The  silence  that  came  between  them  was  broken 
by  Mantel,  who  looked  up  at  him  with  a  trace  of 
the  old  ironical  smile  on  his  face, 

"Your  plans  are  all  right  as  far  as  they  go,  but 
it  seems  to  me  the  hardest  part  of  the  tangle  still 
remains  to  be  unraveled." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  David. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  this  beautiful 
Pepeeta?" 

"Oh,  I  have  settled  that,  too !  You  do  not  know 
how  clearly  I  see  it  all.  It  is  as  if  a  fog  had  lifted 
from  the  ocean,  and  the  sailor  had  found  himself 
inside  the  harbor.  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  all." 

"Do  you  mean  that  you  will  tell  her  that  her 
husband  is  alive?" 

"I  do." 

"And  perhaps  you  will  advise  her  to  return  to 
him !" 

"You  are  right,  I  shall." 


A  MAN  CROSSED  WITH  ADVERSITY.     3.1 1 

Mantel  shook  his  head. 

"You  do  not  think  it  best?"  said  David. 

"I  do  not  know." 

"But  there  is  nothing  else  to  do." 

"It  is  natural  that  I  should  see  only  the  diffi 
culties." 

"What  difficulties  can  there  be  ?" 

"Will  you  do  anything  more  than  destroy  her 
by  binding  her  once  more  to  the  man  she  loathes  ?" 

"You  do  not  know  Pepeeta." 

"It  is  true,  I  only  know  human  nature." 

"But  she  is  more  than  human !" 

"And  are  you?" 

"Not  I !" 

"Then  how  will  you  endure  to  see  her  once  more 
the  wife  of  your  enemy  and  rival?" 

"Mantel,"  said  David,  pausing  in  his  restless 
walk  across  the  room,  "I  do  not  wonder  that  you 
ask  this.  It  was  the  first  question  that  I  asked 
myself.  It  struck  my  heart  like  the  blow  of  a  ham 
mer.  But  I  have  settled  it.  I  have  weighed  the 
pains  which  I  have  suffered  in  a  just  and  even  bal 
ance.  I  know  I  cannot  escape  suffering,  whichever 
way  I  turn.  I  have  felt  the  pains  of  doing  wrong, 
and  I  now  deliberately  choose  the  pains  of  doing 
right,  let  them  be  what  they  will!" 

"It  is  easy  to  scorn  the  bitterness  of  an  untasted 
cup." 

"No  matter !    I  have  settled  it.    It  must  be  done." 

Mantel  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said,  "I  am 
afraid  that  the  great  Joker  of  whom  we  were  talk- 


312  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

ing  yesterday  is  about  to  perpetrate  another  of  his 
jests." 

"You  think  it  absurd,  then?" 

"I  regard  it  as  impossible." 

"But  why?" 

"Because  you  are  making  a  plan  to  act-  as  if  you 
were  a  disembodied  conscience.  You  have  for 
gotten  that  you  still  have  the  passions  of  a  man. 
I  fear  there  will  be  another  tragedy  as  dark  as  the 
first.  But  if  you  are  determined,  I  must  obey  you. 
I  never  know  how  to  act  for  myself;  but  if  some 
one  wishes  me  to  act  for  him  I  can  do  so  without 
fear,  even  if  I  am  compelled  to  do  so  without 
hope." 

David  resumed  his  walk  for  a  moment,  and  then 
pausing  again  before  his  friend,  said,  "Mantel,  a  few 
years  ago  my  soul  was  so  sensitive  to  truth  and 
duty  that  I  was  accustomed  to  regard  its  intuitions 
as  the  will  of  God  revealed  to  me  in  some  sort  of 
supernatural  way.  I  acted  on  the  impulses  of  my 
heart  without  the  slightest  question  or  hesitation, 
and  during  that  entire  period  of  my  life  I  cannot 
remember  that  I  was  ever  for  a  single  time  seri 
ously  mistaken  or  misled.  While  I  obeyed  those 
intuitions  and  followed  that  mysterious  light,  I 
was  happy.  When  I  turned  my  back  on  that 
light  it  ceased  to  shine.  It  has  been  more  than 
two  years  since  I  have  thought  I  heard  the  voice 
of  God  or  felt  any  assurance  that  I  was  in  the  path 
of  duty.  But  now  the  departed  vision  has  returned  ! 
I  have  had  as  clear  a  perception  of  my  duty  as  was 


A  MAN  CROSSED  WITH  ADVERSITY      3X3 

ever  vouchsafed  me  in  the  old  sweet  days,  and  I 
shall  obey  it  if  it  costs  me  my  life." 

So  deep  was  his  earnestness  that  Mantel  seemed 
to  catch  his  enthusiasm  and  be  convinced.  But  in 
another  instant  the  old  mocking  smile  had  returned. 

"Would  you  be  so  tractable  and  obedient  if  the 
old  beggar  were  in  better  health?"  he  said,  opening 
and  shutting  the  leaves  of  a  book  which  was  lying 
on  the  table,  and  looking  out  from  under  half- 
lifted  eyelids. 

At  this  insinuation  David  winced,  and  for  a 
moment  seemed  about  to  resent  it.  But  he 
restrained  himself  and  replied  gently,  "The  same 
distrust  of  my  motives  has  arisen  in  my  own  mind. 
I  more  than  half  suspect  that  if,  as  you  say,  the  old 
beggar  were  young  and  strong,  my  heart  would  fail 
me.  But  the  knowledge  that  I  could  not  do  my 
duty  if  the  doctor  were  going  to  live  cannot  be  any 
reason  for  my  not  doing  it  when  I  believe  that  he 
is  likely  to  die!  I  am  not  called  upon  to  do  wrong 
simply  because  I  see  that  I  am  not  wholly  unselfish 
in  doing  right.  I  am  not  asked  to  face  a  supposi 
tion,  but  a  fact.  I  shall  not  pride  myself  on  any 
righteousness  that  I  do  not  possess;  but  I  must 
not  be  kept  from  doing  my  duty  because  I  am 
not  a  perfect  man." 

"You  are  right,"  said  Mantel,  but  his  assent 
seemed  more  like  a  concession  than  a  conviction. 
He  had  grown  to  regard  the  passing  panorama  of 
life  as  a  great  spectacular  exhibition.  The  actors 
seemed  swayed  by  powers  external  to  themselves, 


314  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

their  movements  exhibiting  such  gross  inconsisten 
cies  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  predict,  and  almost 
impossible  to  guess  them.  He  looked  on  with  more 
curiosity  than  interest,  as  at  the  different  combina 
tions  in  a  kaleidoscope.  He  could  not  conceive 
that  David,  or  any  one,  could  so  come  under  the 
dominant  influence  of  a  conviction  as  to  act  coher 
ently  and  consistently  upon  it  through  any  or  all 
emergencies.  But  he  was  kind  and  sympa 
thetic,  and  his  heart  responded  to  the  passionate 
earnestness  of  his  friend  with  a  new  interest  and 
pleasure. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD 

"First  our  pleasures  die — and  then 
Our  hopes  and  then  our  fears— and  when 
These  are  dead,  the  debt  is  due 
Dust  claims  dust,  and  we  die  too." 

—Shelley. 

The  next  few  weeks  were  passed  by  these  two 
subdued  and  altered  friends  in  devoted  efforts  to 
make  the  blind  man  comfortable  and  happy.  True 
to  his  determination,  David  sought  and  found  a 
place  to  work,  and  after  reserving  enough  of  his 
(wages  to  supply  the  few  necessities  of  his  daily 
life,  dedicated  the  rest  to  the  purchase  of  comforts 
for  the  poor  invalid. 

Mantel  acted  as  his  almoner,  and  by  his  delicate 
tact  and  gentle  manners  persuaded  the  proud  and 
revengeful  old  man  to  accept  the  mysterious  char 
ity.  The  moment  the  strain  of  perpetual  beggary 
was  taken  from  him,  the  physical  ruin  which  the 
terrible  blow  of  the  stone,  the  subsequent  illness, 
and  the  ensuing  poverty  and  wretchedness  had 
wrought,  became  manifest.  He  experienced  a  sud 
den  relapse,  and  began  to  sink  into  an  ominous 
decline. 

Even  had  he  not  known  the  secret  of  his  sorrow, 
it  would  have  soon  become  plain  to  his  acute  and 
watchful  nurse  that  some  hidden  trouble  was  gnaw 
ing  at  his  heart,  for  he  was  taciturn,  abstracted  and 
ftU 


316  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

sometimes  morose.  He  manifested  no  curiosity 
as  to  the  benefactor  upon  whose  charity  he  was 
living,  but  received  the  alms  bestowed  by  that  un 
known  hand  as  children  receive  the  gifts  of  God — 
unsolicited,  imcomprehended  and  unobserved. 

His  mind,  aroused  by  the  conversation  of  his 
untiring  nurse  to  the  realities  of  the  present  exist 
ence,  would  sink  back  by  a  sort  of  irresistible 
gravity  into  the  realm  of  memory.  There,  in  the 
impenetrable  privacy  of  his  soul,  he  brooded  over 
his  wrongs  and  counted  his  prospects  of  righting 
them,  as  a  miser  reckons  h?s  coins. 

The  spasmodic  workings  of  his  countenance,  the 
convulsive  gripping  of  his  hands,  the  grinding  of 
his  great  white  teeth,  the  scalding  tears  which 
sometimes  fell  from  his  sightless  eyes,  revealed  to 
the  mind  of  his  patient  and  watchful  observer  the 
passions  secretly  and  ceaselessly  working  in  his  soul. 

Mantel  became  fascinated  by  the  study  of  this 
subjective  drama.  He  used  to  sit  and  watch  the 
expressive  curtain  behind  which  these  dark  scenes 
were  being  enacted,  and  fancy  that  he  could  follow 
the  soul  as,  in  the  spirit  world,  it  tracked  its  foe, 
fell  upon  him  and  exacted  its  terrible  revenge.  At 
times  he  imagined  that  he  could  actually  see  the 
enraged  thoughts  issue  from  the  body  as  if  it  were 
a  den  or  cave,  and  they,  living  beasts  of  prey  rang- 
ing  abroad  by  day  and  night,  and  returning  witli 
their  booty  to  devour  it;  or,  if  they  had  failed  to 
take  it,  to  brood  over  the  failure  of  their  hani. 

In  all  this  time  he  asked  for  nothing.,  he  com- 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  317 

plained  of  nothing,  commented  on  nothing.  Man 
tel  would  have  concluded  that  his  heart  was  dead 
had  it  not  been  for  his  pathetic  demonstrations  of 
affection  for  the  little  terrier  who  had  so  faithfully 
guided  him  from  his  lodging  to  the  places  where 
he  sat  and  begged. 

The  dog  reciprocated  these  attentions  with  a 
devotion  and  a  gratitude  which  were  human  in 
their  intensity  and  depth.  It  was  as  beautiful  as 
it  was  pathetic,  to  see  these  two  friends  bestowing 
upon  each  other  their  few  but  expressive  signs  of 
love. 

Not  until  many  weeks  had  passed  did  Mantel  suc 
ceed  in  really  engaging  his  patient  in  anything 
like  a  conversation,  and  even  after  he  had  begun 
to  thaw  a  little  under  those  tactful  ministrations 
of  love,  whenever  the  past  was  even  hinted  at  the 
old  recluse  relapsed  instantly  into  silence. 

Mantel  might  have  been  discouraged  had  he  not 
determined  at  all  hazards  to  enter  into  the  secrets 
of  this  life,  and  to  pave  the  way  for  the  forgiveness 
of  his  friend.  He  therefore  persisted  in  his  efforts, 
and  one  bright  day  when  the  invalid  was  feeling 
unusually  strong  ventured  to  press  home  his  in 
quiries. 

"I  cannot  help  thinking,"  he  said,  "that  you  could 
soon  be  reasonably  well  again  if  you  did  not  brood 
so  much.  I  fear  there  is  some  trouble  gnawing  at 
your  heart." 

"There  is,"  he  was  answered,  icily. 

"Have  you  wronged  some  one,  then,  and  are 


318  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

these  thoughts  which  vex  you  feelings  of  remorse 
and  guilt?" 

"Wronged  some  one !"  the  sick  man  fairly  roared, 
gripping  the  arms  of  his  chair  and  gasping  for 
breath  in  the  excitement  which  the  question  brought 
on.  "Not  I !  I  have  been  wronged  !  No  one  has 
ever  b-b-been  wronged  as  I  have.  I  have  nourished 
vipers  in  my  b-b-bosom  and  been  stung  by  them. 
I  have  sown  love  and  reaped  hate.  I  have  been 
robbed,  deceived  and  betrayed !  My  wife  is  gone  ! 
My  health  is  gone!  My  sight  is  gone!  He  has 
skinned  me  like  a  sheep,  c-c-curse  him !  My  heart 
has  turned  to  a  hammer  which  knocks  at  my  ribs 
and  cries  revenge  !  It  ch-ch-chokes  me !" 

He  gasped,  grew  purple  in  the  face  and  clutched 
at  his  collar  as  if  about  to  strangle.  After  a  little 
the  paroxysm  passed  away,  and  Mantel  determined 
once  more  to  try  and  assuage  this  implacable  hatred. 

To  his  own  unbounded  astonishment  this  young 
man  who  had  long  ago  abandoned  his  faith  in 
Christianity,  began  to  plead  like  an  apostle  for  the 
practice  of  its  central  and  fundamental  virtue. 

"My  friend,"  he  said,  with  a  new  solemnity  in  his 
manner,  "you  are  on  the  threshold  of  another 
world ;  how  dare  you  present  yourself  to  the  Judge 
of  all  the  earth  with  a  passion  like  this  in  your 
heart?" 

In  the  momentary  rest  the  beggar  had  recovered 
strength  enough  to  reply :  "It  is  t-t-true.  I  am 
on  the  threshold  of  another  world !  I  didn't  use  to 
b-b-believe  there,  was  one,  but  I  do  now.  There 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  319 

must  be !  Would  it  b-b-be  right  for  such  d-d-devils 
as  the  one  that  wrecked  my  life  to  g-g-go  unpun 
ished  ?  Not  if  I  know  anything !  They  get  away 
from  us  here,  but  if  eternity  is  as  long  as  they 
s-s-say  it  is,  I'll  find  D-D-Dave  Corson  if  it  t-t-takes 
the  whole  of  it,  and  when  I  f-f-find  him — "  he 
paused  again,  gasping  and  strangling. 

Mantel's  pity  was  deeply  stirred,  and  he  would 
gladly  have  spared  him  had  he  dared;  but  he  did 
not,  and  permitting  him  to  regain  his  breath,  he 
said: 

"And  so  you  really  mean  to  die  without  bestow 
ing  your  pardon  upon  those  who  have  wronged 
you?" 

"I  swear  it!" 

"Have  you  ever  heard  the  story  of  the  crucifixion 
of  Jesus  Christ?"  asked  Mantel,  trembling  at  the 
name  and  at  his  own  temerity  in  pronouncing  it. 

It  was  a  strange  situation  into  which  this  young 
skeptic  had  been  forced  by  the  logic  of  circum 
stances.  As  the  old  beggar  felt  the  ethical  necessity 
of  another  life,  the  young  gambler  felt  the  ethical 
necessity  of  the  crucifixion.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
if  the  redemption  of  this  hate-smitten  man  hung 
on  the  capacity  of  his  own  heart  to  empty  itself  of 
its  bitterness,  there  was  about  as  much  hope  as  of 
a  serpent  expelling  the  poison  from  its  fangs !  He 
had  never  before  seen  a  man  under  the  absolute 
and  unresisted  power  of  one  of  the  basal  passions, 
and  neither  he  nor  any  one  else  has  ever  understood 
life  until  he  has  witnessed  that  fearful  spectacle. 


320  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

A  summer  breeze  conveys  no  more  idea  of  a  tor 
nado,  nor  a  burning  chimney  of  a  volcano,  than 
ordinary  vices  convey  of  that  fearful  ruin  which 
any  elemental  passion  works  when  permitted  to 
devastate  a  soul,  unrestrained.  The  sight  filled 
Mantel  with  terror,  and  he  felt  himself  compelled 
by  some  invincible  necessity  to  plead  with  the  man 
in  the  name  of  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  Long  and 
earnestly  he  besought  him  to  forgive  as  Christ 
forgave;  but  all  in  vain!  So  long  had  he  brooded 
over  his  wrongs  that  his  mind  had  either  become 
hopelessly  impotent  or  else  irretrievably  hardened. 
The  conversation  had  so  angered  and  exhausted 
the  invalid  that  he  presently  crawled  over  to  his 
bed,  threw  himself  upon  it  and  sank  almost  in 
stantly  into  a  deep  sleep. 

With  a  heavy  heart,  Mantel  left  him  and  hurried 
home  to  report  the  interview  to  David.  He  found 
him  just  returning  from  his  work,  and  conveyed 
his  message  by  the  gloom  of  his  countenance. 

"Has  anything  gone  wrong?"  David  inquired, 
anxiously,  as  they  entered  their  room. 

Casting  himself  heavily  into  a  seat  and  answering 
abstractedly,  Mantel  replied,  "Each  new  day  of  life 
renders  it  more  inexplicable.  A  man  no  sooner 
forms  a  theory  than  he  is  compelled  to  abandon  it. 
I  fear  it  is  a  labyrinth  from  which  we  shall  none  of 
us  escape." 

"Do  not  speak  in  parables/'  David  exclaimed, 
impatiently.  "If  anything  is  the  matter,  tell  me 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  321 

at  once.  Do  not  leave  me  in  suspense.  I  cannot 
endure  it.  Is  he  worse?  Is  he  dying?" 

"He  is  both,  and  more,"  Mantel  answered,  still 
unable  to  escape  from  the  gloom  which  enveloped 
him. 

"More?  What  more?  Speak  out.  I  cannot 
bear  these  indirections." 

"I  have  at  last  drawn  from  him  a  brief  but  ter 
rible  allusion  to  the  tragedy  of  your  lives." 

"What  did  he  say?    Quick,  tell  me!" 

"He  said  that  he  had  been  wronged  by  those 
whom  he  had  benefited." 

"It  is  too  true,  God  knows;  but  what  else  did 
he  say?" 

"That  he  would  spend  eternity  in  revenging  his 
wrongs." 

"Horrible !"  cried  David,  sinking  into  a  chair. 

"Yes,  more  horrible  than  you  know." 

"Did  he  show  no  mercy?  Was  there  no  sign  of 
pardon  ?" 

"None!  Granite  is  softer  than  his  heart.  Ice  is 
warmer." 

David  rose  and  paced  the  floor.  Pausing  be 
fore  Mantel,  he  said,  piteously,  "Perhaps  he  will 
relent  when  Pepeeta  comes!" 

"Perhaps  !    Have  you  heard  from  her  ?" 

"No,  but  her  answer  cannot  be  much  longer  de 
layed,  for  I  have  written  again  and  again." 

"Something  may  have  happened,"  said  Mantel, 
who  had  lost  all  heart  and  hope. 

"Do  not  say  it,"  David  exclaimed,  beseechingly 


322  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Well,  but  why  does  she  not  reply?" 

"It  is  a  long  distance.  She  may  have  changed 
her  residence.  She  may  never  go  to  the  postoffice. 
She  may  be  sick." 

"Or  dead !"  said  Mantel,  giving  expression  in 
two  words  to  the  fullness  of  his  despair. 

"Impossible !"  exclaimed  David,  his  face  blanch 
ing  at  this  sudden  articulation  of  the  dread  he  had 
been  struggling  so  hard  to  repress. 

"You  do  not  know  her !"  he  continued.  "If  you 
had  ever  seen  her,  you  could  not  speak  of  death. 
She  was  not  made  to  die.  I  beg  you  to  abandon 
this  mood.  You  will  drive  me  to  despair.  I  cannot 
live  another  moment  without  the  hope  that  I  shall 
be  forgiven  by  this  old  man  whom  I  have  so  ter 
ribly  wronged,  and  I  know  that  he  will  not  forgive 
me  unless  I  put  back  into  his  hands  the  treasure 
of  which  I  robbed  him." 

"Corson,"  said  Mantel,  rising  and  taking  David 
by  the  hand,  "you  must  give  up  this  dream  of  re 
ceiving  the  old  man's  pardon." 

"I  cannot!" 

"You  must !  He  will  not  grant  it  even  if  Pepeeta 
comes.  The  knife  has  gone  too  deep !  His  heart 
is  broken,  and  his  mind,  I  think,  is  deranged.  And 
more  than  this,  he  will  not  live  until  Pepeeta  comes 
unless  she  hastens  on  the  wings  of  the  wind.  He  is 
dying,  Corson,  dying.  You  cannot  imagine  how 
he  has  withered  away  since  you  saw  him.  It  is 
like  watching  a  candle  flicker  in  its  socket.  You 
must  abandon  this  hope,  I  say." 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  323 

"And  I  say  that  it  is  impossible." 

"But  you  must.  What  difference  can  it  possibly 
make  whether  he  forgives  you  or  not  ?  The  wrong 
is  done.  It  cannot  be  undone." 

"What  difference?  What  difference,  did  you 
say?  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not  know?  Do 
you  think  a  man  could  endure  this  life,  hard  enough 
at  the  best,  if  he  were  haunted  by  a  dead  man's 
curse?" 

"Thousands  have  had  to  do  so — millions;  but 
do  not  let  us  talk  about  it  any  more.  We  are  nerv 
ous  and  unstrung.  You  will  never  be  persuaded 
until  you  see  for  yourself.  If  you  wish  to  make 
the  effort,  you  must  do  it  soon ;  in  fact  you  must 
do  it  now.  I  have  come  to  tell  you  that  his  phy 
sician  says  he  will  not  live  until  morning." 

"Then  let  us  go!"  cried  David,  seizing  his  hat 
and  starting  for  the  door,  white  to  the  lips  and 
trembling  violently. 

They  passed  out  into  the  night  together  and  hur 
ried  away  to  the  beggar's  room.  Each  was  too 
burdened  for  talk  and  they  walked  in  silence.  Ar 
riving  at  the  house,  they  ascended  the  stairs  on 
tiptoe  and  paused  to  listen  at  the  door.  "I  will 
leave  it  ajar,  so  you  may  hear  what  he  says,  and 
then  you  can  judge  if  I  am  right,"  said  Mantel, 
entering  quietly. 

He  approached  the  table  and  turned  up  the  lamp 
which  he  had  left  burning  dimly.  By  its  pale 
light  David  could  see  the  great  head  lying  on  the 
pillow,  the  chin  elevated,  the  mouth  partially 


324  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

the  breast  heaving  with  the  painful  efforts  to  catch 
a  few  last  fluttering  inspirations. 

Nestling  close  to  the  ashen  face  and  licking  the 
cheek  now  and  then  with  his  little  red  tongue,  was 
the  terrier. 

Mantel's  footfall,  quiet  as  it  was,  disturbed  the 
sleeper,  who  moved,  turned  his  head  toward  the 
sound  and  asked  in  a  husky  and  but  half-audible 
voice,  "Who  is  there?" 

"It  is  I.  How  are  you  now?  A  little  better?" 
said  Mantel,  laying  his  soft,  cool  hand  upon  the 
broad  forehead,  wet  already  with  the  death-damp. 

"I  am  getting  weaker.  It  won't — last — long,"  he 
answered  painfully. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  know  it." 

"Are  you  satisfied?" 

"It  can't— be— helped." 

"No,  it  can't  be  helped.  The  doctor  has  told 
me  you  cannot  live  through  the  night." 

"The — sooner — the — better !" 

"I  do  not  want  to  bother  you,  but  I  cannot  bear 
to  have  you  die  without  talking  to  you  again  about 
your  future;  I  must  try  once  more  to  persuade 
you  not  to  die  without  sending  some  kind  word  to 
the  people  who  have  wronged  you." 

The  expression  of  the  white  face  underwent  a 
hideous  transformation. 

"If  you  do  not  feel  like  talking  to  me  about  a 
matter  so  sacred  and  personal,  would  you  not  like 
tp  have  me  send  for  some  minister  or  priest?" 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  325 

The  head  moved  slowly  back  and  forth  in  a  firm 
negation. 

"In  every  age,  and  among  all  men,  it  has  seemed 
fitting  that  those  who  were  about  to  die  should 
make  some  preparation  to  meet  their  God.  Have 
you  no  desire  to  do  this  ?" 

A  fierce  light  shone  upon  the  emaciated  counte 
nance  and  the  thin  lips  slowly  articulated  these 
words  :  "I — myself — will — settle — with — God !  He 
— will — have — to  —  account  —  to  — me — for — all — 
he — has — made — me — suffer !" 

The  listener  at  the  door  leaned  against  the  wall 
for  support. 

"Is  there  absolutely  no  word  of  pardon  or  of 
kindness  which  you  wish  to  send  to  those  who  have 
injured  you,  as  a  sort  of  legacy  from  the  grave  ?" 

"None !"  he  whispered  fiercely. 

"Suppose  that  your  enemy  should  come  to  see 
you.  Suppose  that  a  great  change  had  come  over 
him;  that  he,  too,  had  suffered  deeply;  that  your 
wife  had  discovered  his  treachery  and  left  him; 
that  he  had  bitterly  repented;  that  he  had  made 
such  atonement  as  he  could  for  his  sin ;  that  it  was 
he  who  has  been  caring  for  you  in  these  last  hours, 
could  you  not  pardon  him?" 

These  words  produced  an  extraordinary  effect  on 
the  dying  man.  For  the  first  time  he  identified 
his  enemy  with  his  friend,  and  as  the  discovery 
dawned  upon  his  mind  a  convulsion  seized  and 
shook  his  frame.  He  slowly  and  painfully  strug 
gled  to  a  sitting  posture,  lifted  his  right  hand  above 


326  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

his  head  and  said  in  tones  that  rang  with  the  rau 
cous  power  of  by-gone  days: 

"Curse  him!  If  I  had  known  that  I  was  eating 
his  b-b-bread,  it  would  have  choked  me!  Send  him 
to  me!  Where  is  he?" 

"I  am  here,"  said  David,  quietly  entering  the 
door.  "I  am  here  to  throw  myself  on  your  mercy 
and  to  beg  you,  for  the  love  of  God,  to  forgive  me." 

As  he  heard  the  familiar  voice,  the  beggar  trem 
bled.  He  made  one  last  supreme  effort  to  look  out 
of  his  darkened  eyes.  An  expression  of  despairing 
agony  followed  the  attempt,  and  then,  with  both  his 
great  bony  hands,  he  clutched  at  the  throat  of  his 
night  robe  as  if  choking  for  breath,  tore  it  open 
and  reaching  down  into  his  bosom  felt  for  some 
concealed  object.  He  found  it  at  last,  grasped  it 
and  drew  it  forth.  It  was  a  shining  blade  of 
steel. 

Mantel  sprang  to  take  it  from  his  hand;  but 
David  pushed  him  back  and  said  calmly,  "Let  him 
alone." 

"Yes,  let  me  alone,"  cried  the  blind  man,  trem 
bling  in  every  limb,  and  crawling  slowly  and  pain 
fully  from  the  bed. 

The  movements  of  the  dying  man  were  too  slow 
and  weak  to  convey  any  adequate  expression  of  the 
tempest  raging  in  his  soul.  It  was  incredible  that 
a  tragedy  was  really  being  enacted,  and  that  this 
poor  trembling  creature  was  thirsting  for  the  life- 
blood  of  a  mortal  foe. 

David  did  not  seek  to  escape.    He  did  not  even 


AS  A  TALE  THAT  IS  TOLD  327 

shudder.  There  was  a  singular  expression  of  re 
pose  on  his  features,  for  in  his  desperation  he 
solaced  himself  by  the  reflection  that  he  was  about 
to  render  final  satisfaction  for  a  sin  whose  atone 
ment  had  become  otherwise  impossible.  He  there 
fore  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast  and  stood 
waiting. 

The  contorted  face  of  the  furious  beggar  afforded 
a  terrible  contrast  to  the  tranquil  countenance  of 
the  penitent  and  unresisting  object  of  his  hatred. 
The  opaque  flesh  seemed  to  have  become  transpar 
ent,  and  through  it  glowed  the  baleful  light  of 
hatred  and  revenge.  The  lips  were  drawn  back 
from  the  white  teeth,  above  which  the  great  mus 
tache  bristled  savagely.  The  lids  were  lifted  from 
the  hollow  and  expressionless  eyes.  Balancing 
himself  for  an  instant  he  moved  forward;  but  the 
emaciated  limbs  tottered  under  the  weight  of  the 
body.  He  reeled,  caught  himself,  then  reeled  once 
more,  and  lunged  forward  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  had  heard  the  voice  of  his  enemy. 

Again  Mantel  strove  to  intercept  him,  and  again 
David  forced  him  back. 

Uncertain  as  to  the  exact  location  of  the  object 
of  his  hatred,  he  raised  his  knife  and  struck  at 
random ;  but  the  blow  spent  itself  in  air. 

The  futility  and  helplessness  of  his  efforts  crazed 
him. 

"Where  are  you?  G-g-give  me  some  sign!"  he 
cried. 

"I  am  here,"  said  David  in  a  voice  whose  pre- 


328  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

ternatural  calmness  sent  a  shudder  to  the  heart  of 
his  friend. 

With  one  supreme  and  final  effort,  the  dying 
man  lurched  forward  and  threw  himself  wildly 
toward  the  sound.  His  hand,  brandishing  the  dag 
ger,  was  uplifted  and  seemed  about  to  descend  on 
his  foe;  but  at  that  very  instant,  with  a  frightful 
imprecation  upon  his  lips,  the  gigantic  form  col 
lapsed,  the  knife  dropped  from  the  hand,  and  he 
plunged,  a  corpse,  into  the  arms  of  his  intended 
victim. 

David  received  the  dead  weight  upon  the  bosom 
at  which  the  dagger  had  been  aimed,  and  the  first 
expression  of  his  face  indicated  a  certain  disap 
pointment  that  a  single  blow  had  not  been  permitted 
to  end  his  troubles,  as  well  as  terror  at  an  event 
so  appalling.  He  stood  spellbound  for  a  moment, 
supporting  the  awful  burden,  and  then,  overpow 
ered  with  the  horror  of  the  situation,  cried  out, 

"Take  him,  Mantel!  take  him!  Help  me  to  lay 
him  down!  Quick,  I  cannot  stand  it;  quick!" 

They  laid  the  lifeless  form  on  the  bed,  while  the 
little  dog,  leaping  up  beside  his  dead  master,  threw 
his  head  back  and  emitted  a  series  of  prolonged 
and  melancholy  howls. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH 

"Men  deal  with  life  as  children  with  their  play, 
Who  first  misuse,  then  cast  their  toys  away." 

— Cowper. 

Bewildered  by  the  scene  through  which  he 
had  just  passed,  Corson  returned  to  his  rooms  and 
spent  the  night  in  a  sort  of  stupor.  What  happened 
the  next  day  he  never  knew;  but  on  the  follow 
ing  morning  he  accompanied  Mantel  to  the  ceme 
tery  where,  with  simple  but  reverent  ceremony,  they 
committed  the  body  of  the  doctor  to  the  bosom 
of  earth. 

Just  as  they  were  about  to  turn  away,  after  the 
conclusion  of  the  burial  service,  a  strange  thing 
happened.  The  limb  of  a  great  elm  tree,  which 
had  been  tied  back  to  keep  it  out  of  the  way  of  the 
workmen,  was  released  by  the  old  sexton  and 
swept  back  over  the  grave. 

It  produced  a  similar  impression  upon  the  minds 
of  both  the  subdued  spectators.  They  glanced  at 
each  other,  and  Mantel  said^  "It  was  like  the  wing 
of  an  angel !" 

"Yes,"  added  David  with  a  sigh,  "and  seemed  to 
brush  away  and  obliterate  all  traces  of  his  sorrow 
and  his  sins." 

They  did  not  speak  during  their  homeward  jour 
ney,  and  when  they  reached  their  rooms  David 

329 


330  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

paced  uneasily  backward  and  forward  until  the 
shadows  of  evening  had  fallen.  When  he  suddenly 
observed  that  it  was  dusk,  he  took  his  hat  and  went 
out  into  the  streets.  There  was  something  so  rest 
less  and  unnatural  about  his  movements  as  to  ex 
cite  the  suspicion  of  his  friend,  who  waited  for  a 
single  moment  and  then  hurried  after  him. 

The  night  was  calm  and  clear,  the  autumn  stars 
were  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  tide  of  life 
which  had  surged  through  the  busy  streets  all  day 
was  ebbing  like  the  waters  from  the  bays  and 
estuaries  along  the  shore  of  the  ocean. 

The  sounds  the  people  made  in  tramping  over 
the  stone  pavements  or  hurriedly  driving  over  the 
hard  streets,  possessed  a  strangely  different  quality 
from  the  monotonous  and  grinding  roar  of  the 
daylight.  They  were  sharp,  clear,  resonant  and 
emphatic.  A  single  footfall  attracted  the  attention 
of  a  listener  more  than  the  previous  shuffle  of  a 
thousand  feet.  David's, — soft  and  subdued  as  it 
was, — resounded  loudly,  echoing  from  the  build 
ings  on  either  side  of  him  as  he  slowly  paced  along. 

It  was  evident  to  every  one  who  met  him  that  he 
was  moving  aimlessly.  Now  and  then  some  keen- 
eyed  pedestrian  stopped  to  take  a  second  look  and, 
turning  to  do  so,  felt  an  instinctive  pity  for  this 
burdened,  care-encumbered  man,  wending  his  way 
through  the  almost  deserted  streets. 

This  gaze  was  unreturned  and  this  sympathy 
unperceived.  He  was  in  one  of  those  fits  of  abstrac 
tion  when  the  whole  external  universe  with  all  its 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH          331 

beauties  and  sublimities  has  ceased  to  exist.  His 
cup  of  misery  was  full,  he  had  lost  all  clue  to  the 
meaning  of  life  and  a  single  definite  idea  had  taken 
complete  possession  of  his  mind.  It  was  that  he 
was  doomed  to  pass  his  existence  under  a  curse. 

By  the  very  nature  of  its  being,  the  soul  is  keenly 
sensitive  to  blessings  and  curses,  and  it  is  not  alone 
the  benediction  of  the  mitred  priest  that  thrills  the 
heart!  That  of  the  pauper  upon  whom  we  have 
bestowed  alms  sometimes  awakens  in  our  bosom 
a  hope  and  gladness  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
insignificant  source  from  which  it  has  proceeded. 
Nor  do  we  need  to  be  cursed  by  the  great  and  the 
powerful  to  feel  a  pang  of  terror  in  our  souls !  Let 
but  some  helpless  wretch  whom  we  have  wronged 
commit  his  cause  to  heaven  in  a  single  syllable, 
and  we  shudder  as  if  we  already  heard  the  ap 
proach  of  those  avenging  feet  which  the  ancients 
said  were  shod  with  wool.  The  curse  of  the  dead 
and  impotent  beggar  rang  in  the  ears  of  the  fugi 
tive  like  the  strokes  of  an  alarm  bell.  That  deep 
sense  of  justice  which  had  been  formed  in  his  early 
life  had  been  revivified  and  endowed  with  a  resist 
less  power. 

At  such  moments  as  these  through  which  he  was 
passing  man  experiences  no  doubt  as  to  the  nature 
,and  origin  of  conscience.  He  is  as  sure  that  the 
terror  aroused  in  his  heart  is  the  echo  of  the  de 
cision  of  some  real  and  awful  tribunal  as  that  the 
wave  upon  the  shore  is  produced  by  some  real 
though  invisible  storm  at  sea,  or  the  shadow  on 


332  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

the  mountain  by  some  palpable  object  between  it 
and  the  sun. 

The  conscience  is  not  only  "a  secretion  in  the 
brain,"  it  is  not  only  the  "accumulated  observations 
of  the  universal  man  upon  the  phenomena  of  the 
moral  life,"  it  is  not  only  his  study  of  the  laws  of 
cause  and  effect  distilled  into  maxims  and  fore 
bodings;  it  is  this,  but  it  is  more  than  this — as 
every  total  is  more  than  any  of  its  parts.  For  every 
man  has  something  which  is  in  him,  but  not  of  him. 
It  resides  within  his  intelligence,  but  it  is  not  so 
much  the  offspring  of  his  intelligence  as  an  emissary 
that  has  taken  up  its  residence  there !  This  obscure 
something  is  stronger  than  he.  He  does  not  sub 
ordinate  it  to  himself,  but  is  subordinated  by  it. 
He  can  rebel  against  it,  but  he  cannot  overthrow  it. 
He  can  fly  from  it,  but  he  cannot  escape  it. 

This  sublime  and  mysterious  power  had  at  last 
obtained  complete  ascendency  in  the  soul  of  David 
Corson.  He  no  longer  argued  and  he  no  longer 
resisted.  He  saw  no  way  of  escape  from  the  spiritual 
anaconda  which  was  tightening  its  folds  around 
him. 

This  was  all  the  more  strange  because  the  way 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  irrepressible  hunger  of  his 
heart  was  now  open.  Pepeeta's  husband  was  dead, 
and  although  he  was  not  innocent  of  a  great  crime, 
he  was  at  least  not  a  murderer.  Pepeeta  still  loved 
him,  if  she  were  still  alive.  Of  this  he  had  no 
more  doubt  than  of  his  love  for  her.  Why  then 
did  he  thus  give  up  to  despair?  Why  did  he  not 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH          333 

fly  to  her  arms  and  claim  from  life  that  happiness 
which  had  hitherto  escaped  his  grasp  ? 

He  did  not  try  to  solve  these  problems,  nor 
to  comprehend  his  own  despair.  He  only  knew 
that  he  had  been  baffled  at  every  turn  of  his  life  by 
powers  with  which  he  was  unable  to  cope,  and  that 
he  was  tired  of  the  struggle.  He  would  give  him 
self  up  to  the  mighty  stream  of  events  and  be  borne 
along.  If  he  was  exercising  any  volition  in  the 
choice  of  the  path  he  was  following,  he  was  doing 
it  unconsciously.  That  path  was  leading  him  direct 
to  the  harbor.  It  was  a  pathway  well-worn  by 
tired  feet  like  his  own. 

The  miserable  creatures  who  had  preceded  him 
seemed  to  have  formed  a  sort  of  wake  by  which  he 
was  being  drawn  along  to  that  "wandering  grave" 
in  the  deep  sea.  At  last  he  reached  the  water's 
edge,  and  started  as  he  heard  the  waves  splashing 
among  the  wooden  piles.  The  soft,  sibilant  sounds 
seemed  like  kisses  on  the  lips  of  the  victims  of 
their  treacherous  caresses. 

The  deed  of  which  they  whispered  seemed  but 
the  logical  conclusion  of  his  entire  career.  He  put 
his  foot  upon  the  edge  of  the  wharf  and  looked 
down  into  the  dark  abyss. 

It  was  at  this  critical  instant  that  his  faithful 
friend  extended  his  hand  to  save  him;  but  at  the 
same  instant  another  and  mightier  hand  was  also 
extended  from  the  sky. 

From  a  remote  part  of  the  Battery  a  sound  cut 
the  silent  air.  It  was  a  human  voice,  masculine. 


334  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

powerful,  tender  and  pleading,  lifted  in  a  sacred 
song.  That  sound  was  the  first  element  of  the  ob 
jective  world  which  had  penetrated  the  conscious 
ness  of  the  tortured  and  desperate  would-be  suicide. 
He  turned  and  listened — and  as  he  did  so,  Man 
tel  sprang  back  among  the  shadows  just  in  time 
to  escape  his  observation.  The  full-throated  music, 
floating  on  the  motionless  air,  fell  upon  his  ear 
like  a  benediction.  He  listened,  and  caught  the 
words  of  a  hymn  with  which  he  had  been  familiar 
in  his  childhood : 

"Light  of  those  whose   dreary   dwelling 
Borders  on  the  shades  of  death! 
Rise  on  us,  thy  love  revealing, 
Dissipate   the   clouds   beneath. 
Thou  of  heaven  and  earth  creator — 
In  our  deepest  darkness  rise, 
Scattering  all  the  night  of  nature, 
Pouring  day  upon  our  eyes." 

By  the  spell  of  this  mysterious  music  he  was 
drawn  back  into  the  living  world — drawn  as  if  by 
some  powerful  magnet. 

Pain  and  sorrow  had  become  tired  of  vexing 
him  at  last,  and  now  stretched  forth  their  hands  in 
a  ministry  of  consolation.  With  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  spot  from  which  the  music  issued,  he 
moved  unconsciously  toward  it,  Mantel  following 
him. 

A  few  moments'  walking  brought  him  to  a  weird 
spectacle.  A  torch  had  been  erected  above  a  low; 
platform  on  which  stood  a  man  of  most  unique  and 
striking  personality.  He  looked  like  a  giant  in 
the  wavering  light  of  the  torch.  He  was  dressed  in 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH          335 

the  simple  garb  of  a  Quaker;  his  head  was  bare; 
great  locks  of  reddish  hair  curled  round  his  tem 
ples  and  fell  down  upon  his  shoulders.  His  massive 
countenance  bespoke  an  extraordinary  mind,  and 
beamed  with  rest  and  peace. 

As  he  sang  the  old  familiar  hymn,  he  looked 
around  upon  his  audience  with  an  expression  such 
as  glowed,  no  doubt,  from  the  countenance  of  the 
Christ  when  He  spoke  to  the  multitudes  on  the 
shores  of  Lake  Genessaret. 

xClose  to  the  small  platform  was  a  circle  of  street 
Arabs,  awed  into  silence  and  respect  by  the  charm 
of  this  remarkable  personality.  Next  to  them  came 
a  ring  of  women — some  of  them  old  and  gray,  with 
haggard  and  wrinkled  countenances  upon  which 
Time,  with  his  antique  pen,  had  traced  many  illegi 
ble  hieroglyphs;  some  of  them  young  and  bedizened 
with  tinsel  jewelry  and  flashy  clothing;  not  a  few 
of  them  middle-aged,  wan,  dispirited  and  bearing 
upon  their  hips  bundles  wrapped  in  faded  shawls, 
from  which  came  occasionally  that  most  distressing 
of  sounds,  the  wail  of  an  ill-fed  and  unloved  infant, 
crying  in  the  night. 

Outside  of  this  zone  of  female  misery  and  degra 
dation,  there  was  a  belt  of  masculine  stupidity  and 
crime;  men  with  corpulent  bodies,  bull  necks, 
double  chins,  pile-driving  heads ;  men  of  shrunken 
frames,  cadaverous  cheeks,  deep-set  and  beady 
eyes  —  vermin-covered,  disease-devoured,  hope- 
deserted.  They  clung  around  him,  these  concentric 
circles  of  humanity,  like  rings  around  a  luminous 


336  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

planet,  held  by  they  knew  not  what  resistless  at 
traction. 

The  simple  melody,  borne  upon  the  pinions  of 
that  resonant  and  cello-like  voice,  attained  an  al 
most  supernatural  influence  over  their  perverted 
natures.  When  it  ceased,  an  audible  sigh  arose,  an 
involuntary  tribute  of  adoration  and  of  awe. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  hymn,  this  con 
secrated  apostle  to  the  lost  sheep  of  the  great  city 
opened  a  well-worn  volume. 

The  passage  which  he  read,  or  rather  chanted, 

|  was  the  fifty-third  chapter  of  Isaiah,  the  awe-in- 

/  spiring  sentences  sending  through  the  circles  of 

'   humanity  which  were  tightening  about  him  visible 

vibrations. 

IVVhen  he  finished  his  reading,  he  began  an 
address  full  of  homely  wit  and  pathos,  in  which, 
with  all  the  rich  and  striking  imagery  culled  from  a 
varied  life  in  the  wildernesses  of  the  great  forests 
and  the  great  cities  of  our  continent,  he  appealed 
to  that  consciousness  of  "the  true,  the  beautiful 
and  the  good"  which  he  believed  to  lie  dormant, 
but  capable  of  resurrection,  in  the  soul  of  every 
man. 

A  few  of  his  auditors  were  too  far  gone  with 
fatigue  or  intoxication  to  follow  him,  and  elbowing 
their  way  through  the  crowd  shot  off  into  the  night 
upon  their  various  tangents  of  stupidity  or  crime ; 
but  most  of  the  spectators  listened  with  a  sort  of 
rapt  and  involuntary  attention. 

The  influence  which  he  exerted  over  the  mind  of 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH         337 

the  young  man  whom  he  had  unconsciously  saved 
from  suicide  was  as  irresistible  as  it  was  inscruta 
ble.  His  language  had  the  charm  of  perfect  famil 
iarity.  Every  word  and  phrase  had  fallen  from  his 
own  lips  a  hundred  times  in  similar  exhortations. 
In  fact,  they  seemed  to  him  strangely  like  the  echo 
of  his  own  voice  coming  back  upon  him  from  the 
dim  and  half-forgotten  past. 

His  interest  and  excitement  culminated  in  an 
incident  for  which  the  listener  was  totally  unpre 
pared.  The  speaker  who  had  been  exhorting  his 
audience  upon  the  testimony  of  prophet  and  apos 
tle  now  appealed  to  his  own  personal  experience. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  said,  laying  his  great  hand 
on  his  broad  chest.  "I  was  once  as  hardened  and 
desperate  a  man  as  any  of  you ;  but  God  saved  me ! 
See  this  book !"  he  added,  holding  up  the  old  vol 
ume.  "I  will  tell  you  a  story  aSout  it.  I  found  it 
in  a  log  cabin  away  out  in  the  frontier  state  of  Ohio. 
Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you  how.  I  had  left  a  lumber 
camp  with  a  company  of  frontiersmen  one  Sunday 
morning,  to  go  to  a  new  clearing  which  we  were 
making  in  the  wilderness,  when  I  suddenly  discov 
ered  that  I  had  forgotten  my  axe.  Swearing  at  my 
misfortune,  I  returned  to  get  it.  As  I  approached 
the  cabin  which  I  had  left  a  few  minutes  before, 
I  heard  a  human  voice.  I  paused  in  surprise,  crept 
quietly  to  the  door  and  listened.  Some  one  was 
talking  in  almost  the  very  language  in  which  I  have 
spoken  to  you.  I  was  frightened  and  fled !  Escap 
ing  into  the  depths  of  the  forest,  I  lay  down  at  the 


338  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

root  of  a  great  tree,  and  for  the  first  time  in  my 
life  I  made  a  silence  in  my  soul  and  listened  to  the 
voice  of  God.  I  know  not  how  long  I  lay  there; 
but  at  last  when  I  recovered  my  consciousness  I 
returned  to  the  cabin.  It  was  silent  and  empty; 
but  on  the  floor  I  found  this  book." 

"Good  God !"  exclaimed  a  voice. 

So  rapt  had  been  the  attention  of  the  hearers  that 
at  this  unexpected  interruption  the  women  screamed 
and  the  men  made  a  wide  path  for  the  figure  that 
burst  through  them  and  rushed  toward  the  plat 
form. 

The  speaker  paused  and  fixed  his  eye  upon  the 
man  who  pressed  eagerly  toward  him. 

'Tell  me  whether  a  red  line  is  drawn  down  the 
edge  of  that  chapter,  and  a  hand  is  pointing  toward 
the  fifth  and  sixth  verses !"  he  cried. 

"It  is,"  replied  the  lumberman. 

"Then  let  me  take  it !"  exclaimed  David,  reaching 
out  his  trembling  hands. 

"What  for?" 

"Because  it  is  mine!  I  am  the  man  who  pro 
claimed  the  holy  faith,  and,  God  forgive  me,  aban 
doned  it  even  as  you  received  it !" 

The  astonished  lumberman  handed  him  the  Bible, 
and  he  covered  it  with  kisses  and  tears.  In  the 
meantime,  the  crowd,  excited  by  the  spectacular 
elements  of  the  drama,  surged  round  the  actors, 
and  the  preacher,  reaching  down,  took  David  by 
the  arm  and  raised  him  to  the  platform. 

"Be  quiet,  my  friends,"  he  said  with  a  gesture  of 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH          339 

command,  "and  when  this  prodigal  has  regained 
his  composure  we  will  ask  him  to  tell  us  his  story." 

Of  what  was  transpiring  around  him,  David 
seemed  to  be  entirely  unconscious  and  at  last  the 
fickle  crowd  became  impatient. 

"What's  de  matter  wid  you?"  said  a  sarcastic 
voice. 

"Speak  out !    Don't  snuffle,"  exclaimed  another. 

"Tip  us  your  tale,"  cried  a  fourth. 

"Go  on.  Go  on.  We're  waiting,"  called  many 
more. 

These  impatient  cries  at  last  aroused  David  from 
his  waking  dream,  he  drew  his  hand  over  his  eyes, 
and  began  his  story. 

For  a  time  the  strange  narrative  produced  a  pro 
found  impression.  Heads  drooped  as  if  in  medi 
tation  upon  the  mystery  and  meaning  of  life;  sig 
nificant  glances  were  exchanged;  tears  trembled 
in  many  eyes;  these  torpid  natures  received  a  shock 
which  for  a  moment  awakened  them  to  a  new  life. 

But  it  was  only  for  a  moment.  They  were  in 
capable  of  the  sustained  effort  of  thought,  of  ambi 
tion,  or  of  will.  Impressions  made  upon  their  souls 
were  like  those  made  on  the  soft  folds  of  a  gar 
ment  by  the  passing  touch  of  a  hand. 

To  their  besotted  perceptions  this  scene  was  like 
a  play  in  a  Bowery  theater,  and  now  that  the  dra 
matic  denouement  had  come,  they  lost  their  inter 
est  and  sauntered  away  singly  or  in  little  groups. 
In  a  few  moments  there  were  only  three  figures 
left  in  the  light  of  the  flaming  torch.  They  were 


340  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

those  of  the  lumberman,  David,  and  Mantel,  who 
now  drew  near,  took  his  friend  by  the  hand  and 
pressed  it  with  a  gentle  sympathy. 

"Where  did  you  come  from?"  asked  David  in 
surprise,  as  he  for  the  first  time  recognized  his 
companion. 

"I  have  followed  you  all  the  evening,"  Mantel 
replied. 

"Then  you  have  heard  the  story  of  this  book  ?" 

"I  have,  and  I  could  not  have  believed  it  without 
hearing." 

"Can  you  spare  us  a  little  of  your  time?"  said 
David,  turning  to  the  lumberman. 

"I  owe  you  all  the  time  you  wish  and  all  the 
service  I  can  render,"  he  replied. 

"You  have  more  than  paid  your  debt  by  what 
you  have  done  for  me  to-night,  but  who  are  you?" 

"I  am  only  another  voice  crying  in  the  wilder 
ness." 

"Is  this  your  only  business  in  life — to  speak  to 
the  outcast  and  the  wretched  as  you  did  to-night  ?" 

"This  is  all." 

David  looked  his  admiration. 

"How  do  you  support  yourself?"  asked  Mantel, 
to  whom  such  a  man  was  a  phenomenon. 

"We  do  not  any  of  us  support  ourselves  so  much 
as  we  are  supported,"  he  replied. 

"And  this  life  of  toil  and  self-denial  had  its  origin 
in  those  words  I  spoke  in  the  empty  lumber  camp  ?" 
asked  David,  incredulouslv. 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH          341 

"It  is  not  a  life  of  self-denial,  but  that-  was  its 
beginning." 

"It  is  a  mystery.  I  lost  my  faith  and  you  found 
it,  and  now  perhaps  you  are  going  to  give  it  back 
again !"  David  said. 

The  lumberman  turned  his  searching  eyes  kindly 
on  Mantel's  face  and  said,  "And  how  is  it  with  thee, 
my  friend;  hast  thou  the  peace  of  God?" 

The  directness  of  the  question  startled  the  gam 
bler.  "I  have  no  peace  of  any  kind ;  my  heart  is 
full  of  storms  and  my  life  is  a  ruin,"  he  answered 
sadly. 

"Did  thee  never  notice,"  said  the  lumberman     / 
gently,  "how  nature  loves  to  reclaim  a  ruin?" 

"In  what  way?" 

"By  covering  it  with  vines  and  moss." 

The  unexpected  nature  of  this  answer  and  the 
implied  encouragement  produced  a  deep  impression 
on  the  mind  of  the  gambler,  but  he  answered : 

"I  shall  never  be  reclaimed.  I  have  gone  too 
far.  I  have  often  tried  to  find  the  true  way  of  life, 
and  prayed  for  a  single  glimpse  of  light!  Have 
you  ever  heard  how  Zeyd  used  to  spend  hours  lean 
ing  against  the  wall  of  the  Kaaba  and  praying, 
'Lord,  if  I  knew  in  what  manner  thou  wouldst  have 
me  adore  thee,  I  would  obey  thee;  but  I  do  not! 
Oh !  give  me  light !'  I  have  prayed  that  prayer  with 
all  that  agony,  but,  to  me,  the  universe  is  dark  as 
hell!" 

"There  is  light  enough !  It  is  eyes  we  need !"  said 
the  evangelist. 


342  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Light!  Who  has  it?  Many  think  they  have,  but 
it  is  mere  fancy.  They  mistake  the  shining  of  rotten 
wood  for  fire !" 

"And  sometimes  men  have  walked  in  the  light 
without  seeing  it,  as  fish  swimming  in  the  sea  and 
birds  flying  in  the  air,  might  say,  'Where  is  the 
sea?'  'Where  is  the  air?' " 

"But  what  comfort  is  it,  if  there  is  light,  and  I 
cannot  see  it?  There  might  as  well  be  no  light 
at  all!" 

"The  bird  never  knows  it  has  wings  until  it 
tries  them !  We  see,  not  by  looking  for  our  eyes, 
but  by  looking  out  of  them.  We  say  of  a  little 
child  that  it  has  to  'find  its  legs/  Some  men  have 
to  find  their  eyes." 

"It  is  an  art,  then,  to  see?" 

"I  would  even  call  it  a  trick,  if  I  dared." 

"Can  you  impart  that  capacity  and  teach  that 
art?" 

"No,  it  must  be  acquired  by  each  man  for  him 
self.  We  can  only  tell  others  'we  see/  " 

"I  only  know  that  I  wish  I  could  see!" 

"We  see  by  faith." 

"And  what  is  faith?" 

"It  is  a  power  of  the  soul  as  much  higher  than 
reason  as  reason  is  higher  than  sense." 

"Some  men  may  possess  such  power,  but  I  do 
not." 

"You  at  least  have  an  imagination." 
/'Yes." 
I  "Well,  faith  is  but  the  imagination  spiritualized." 


OUT  OF  THE  JAWS  OF  DEATH         343 

Mantel  regarded  the  man  who  spoke  in  these 
terse  and  pregnant  sentences  with  astonishment. 
"This,"  said  he,  "is  not  the  same  language  in  which 
you  addressed  the  people  in  the  Battery.  This  is 
the  language  of  a  philosopher !  Do  all  lumbermen 
in  the  west  speak  thus?" 

The  evangelist  began  to  reply,  but  was  inter 
rupted  by  David,  who  now  burst  out  in  a  sudden 
exclamation  of  joy  and  gratitude.  He  had  been 
too  busy  with  reflections  and  memories  to  partici 
pate  actively  in  the  conversation,  for  this  startling 
incident  had  disclosed  to  him  the  whole  slow  and 
hidden  movement  of  the  providence  of  his  life  to 
wards  this  climax  and  opportunity.  He  was  pro 
foundly  moved  by  a  clear  conviction  that  a  divine 
hand  must  have  planned  and  superintended  this 
whole  web  of  events,  and  had  intentionally  led  him 
from  contemplating  the  tragic  issue  of  his  sinful 
deeds  and  desires,  to  this  vision  of  the  good  he  had 
done  in  the  better  moments  of  his  life.  This  strange 
coincidence,  to  a  mind  like  his,  could  leave  no  room 
for  doubt  that  the  hand  of  God  was  on  him,  and 
that,  after  all,  he  had  been  neither  abandoned  nor 
forgotten.  The  lumberman  had  been  sent  at  this 
critical  moment  to  save  him!  There  was  still  hope! 

With  that  instantaneous  movement  in  which  his 
disordered  conceptions  of  life  invariably  re-formed 
themselves,  the  chaotic  events  of  the  past  shifted 
themselves  into  a  purposeful  and  comprehensible 
series,  and  revealed  beyond  peradventure  the  hand 
of  God. 


344  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

And  as  this  conclusion  burst  upon  him,  he  broke 
into  the  conversation  of  Mantel  and  the  lumber 
man  with  the  warmest  exclamations  of  gratitude 
and  happiness. 

They  talked  a  long  time  in  the  quiet  night,  asking 
and  answering  questions.  The  two  friends  be 
sought  the  evangelist  to  accompany  them  to  their 
rooms,  but  he  said: 

"I  have  given  you  my  message  and  must  pass 
on.  My  work  is  to  bear  testimony.  I  sow  the  seed 
and  leave  its  cultivation  and  the  harvest  to  others." 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
THE  GREAT  REFUSAL 

"But  when  the  young  man  heard  that  saying,  he  went  away 
sorrowful." 

Too  busy  with  their  own  thoughts  to  talk  on  the 
way  home,  on  entering  their  rooms  Mantel  threw 
himself  into  a  chair,  while  David  nervously  began 
to  gather  his  clothes  together  and  crowd  them 
hastily  into  a  satchel. 

"What's  up?"  asked  Mantel. 

"I'm  off  in  the  morning." 

"Which  way  are  you  going?" 

"There  is  only  one  way.  I  am  going  to  find 
Pepeeta." 

"Do  you  really  expect  to  succeed?" 

"Expect  to !    I  am  determined !" 

"It's  a  sudden  move." 

"Sudden!  everything  is  sudden.  Events  have 
simply  crashed  upon  me  lately!  When  I  think  of 
the  fluctuations  of  hope  and  despair,  of  certainty 
and  uncertainty  through  which  I  have  gone  in  the 
past  few  hours,  I  am  stupefied." 

"And  I  never  go  through  any !  My  life  is  like  a 
dead  and  stagnant  sea — nothing  agitates  it.  If  I 
could  once  be  upheaved  from  the  bottom  or  churned 
into  a  foam  from  the  top,  I  think  I  might  amount  to 
something." 

"You  ought  to  quit  this  business.  Mantel,  and 

345 


346  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

come  with  me.  I  am  going  to  find  Pepeeta,  take 
her  back  to  that  quiet  valley  where  I  lived,  and  get 
myself  readjusted  to  life.  I  need  time  for  reflection, 
and  so  do  you.  What  do  you  say?  Will  you  join 
me  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  leave  you  ?  You  have  been 
a  friend,  and  I  love  you!" 

"Thanks,  Corson,  thanks.  You  have  come 
nearer  to  stirring  this  dead  heart  of  mine  than  any 
one  since — well,  no  matter.  I  reciprocate  your 
feeling.  I  shall  have  a  hard  time  of  it  after  you 
have  gone." 

"Then  join  me." 

"It  is  impossible." 

"But  why?  This  life  will  destroy  you  sooner  or 
later." 

"Oh — that's  been  done  already." 

"No,  it  hasn't.  There  are  more  noble  things  in 
you  than  you  realize.  What  you  need  is  to  give 
them  scope  and  let  them  out." 

"You  don't  know  me.    What  you  see  is  all  on 

the  surface.    If  I  ever  had  any  power  of  decision  or 

action  it  has  gone.     I  am  the  victim,  and  not  the 

}  master  of  my  destiny.     I  am  drifting  along  like  a 

•  derelict,  with  no  compass  to  guide,  rudder  to  steer 

or  anchor  to  grip  the  bottom." 

"Make  another  effort,  old  man,  do!  Look  at 
me.  I  was  in  as  bad  a  fix  as  you  are  only  a  little 
while  ago." 

"Yes,  but  see  what  has  happened  to  you!  Cir 
cumstances  have  tumbled  you  out  of  the  nest,  and 
of  course  you  had  to  fly.  I  wish  something  would 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  347 

happen  to  me!  I  would  almost  be  glad  to  have 
lightning  strike  me." 

"What  you  say  is  true  in  a  way,  of  course.  I 
know  I  don't  deserve  any  credit  for  breaking  out 
of  this  life.  But  don't  you  think  a  man  can  do 
it  alone,  without  any  such  frightful  catastrophes 
to  help  him?  It  seems  to  me,  now,  that  I  could. 
I  feel  as  if  I  could  burst  through  stone  walls." 

"Of  course  you  do,  my  dear  fellow,  and  you  can. 
But  something  has  put  strength  into  you !  That's 
what  I  need." 

"Well,  let  me  put  it  into  you !  Lean  on  me.  I 
can't  bear  to  leave  you  here  and  see  you  go  down ! 
Come,  brace  up.  Make  an  effort.  Decide.  Tear 
yourself  away !" 

"You  actually  make  my  heart  flutter,  Davy;  I 
feel  as  if  I  would  really  like  to  do  it.  But  I  can't. 
It's  no  use.  I  shouldn't  get  across  the  ferry  before 
I'd  begin  to  hang  back." 

"But  you  don't  belong  to  this  life.  You  are 
above  it,  naturally.  You  ought  to  be  a  force  for 
good  in  the  world.  Society  needs  such  men  as  you 
are,  and  needs  them  badly.  Come!  If  I  can  break 
these  meshes  you  can." 

"No,  my  dear  fellow,  that's  a  non-sequitur.  There 
is  different  blood  flowing  in  our  veins,  and  we  have 
had  a  different  environment  and  education.  As  far 
back  as  I  know  anything  about  them,  my  people 
have  all  lived  on  the  surface  of  life,  and  I  have 
floated  along  with  them.  But,  by  heavens — I  have 
at  least  seen  down  into  the  depths !" 


348  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Well,  I  have  my  inheritance  of  bad  blood 
also.  I  had  a  father  who  was  not  only  weak 
but  wicked." 

"Yes,  but  think  of  your  mother." 

"Mantel,  you  are  carrying  this  too  far.  A  man 
is  something  more  than  the  mere  chemical  product 
of  his  ancestor's  blood  and  brains !  Every  one  has 
a  new  and  original  endowment  of  his  own.  He 
must  live  and  act  for  himself." 

"Maybe  so,  but  everything  seems,  at  least,  to  be 
a  fixed  and  inevitable  consequence  of  what  has 
gone  before.  I  don't  want  to  disparage  this  last 
act  of  yours,  but  see  how  far  back  its  roots  reach 
into  the  past.  See  what  a  chain  of  events  led  up  to 
it,  and  what  frightful  causes  have  been  operating  to 
bring  you  up  to  the  sticking  point!  How  long 
ago  was  it  that  you  were  just  as  ready  to  throw  up 
the  game?" 

"Horrible!  Don't  speak  of  it!  It  makes  me 
tremble.  I  am  not  worthy  to  defend  or  even  advo 
cate  a  life  of  endeavor  and  victory,  Mantel,  and  I 
will  not  try ;  but  I  know  that  I  am  right." 

"Yes,  Dave,  you  are  right;  I  know  it  as  well  as 
you.  I  am  only  talking  to  ease  my  conscience.  I 
know  I  ought  to  snap  these  cords,  and  I  know  I 
can.  But  I  also  know  that  I  am  grinding  here  in 
this  devil's  mill  while  every  bad  man  makes  sport 
and  every  good  man  weeps !  And  I  know  that  I 
shall  keep  on  grinding  while  you  and  thousands  of 
other  noble  fellows  with  less  brains,  perhaps,  and 
fewer  chances  than  mine,  make  wild  dashes  for  lib- 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  349 

erty  and  do  men's  work  in  the  world.  But  here  I 
am,  cold  and  dead,  and  here  I  remain." 

"Can  nothing  persuade  you — not  love?  I  love 
you,  Mantel !  Come,  let  us  go  together.  Who  knows 
what  we  can  do  if  we  try  ?  I  must  persuade  you !" 

"I  am  like  a  ship  in  a  sea  of  glue.  You  touch 
me,  but  you  don't  persuade  me!  It's  no  use.  I 
cannot  budge.  The  aspirations  you  awaken  in  my 
soul  leap  up  above  the  surface  like  little  fishes  from 
a  pond,  and  as  quickly  fall  back  again!  No,  I  can 
not  go.  Don't  press  me — it  makes  me  feel  like  the 
young  man  in  the  gospel,  who  made  what  Dante 
calls  'the  great  refusal;'  he  saw  that  young  man's 
'shade'  in  hell." 

They  were  sitting  on  the  sill  of  a  deep  window  in 
what  had  once  been  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
mansions  of  the  city.  The  sash  was  raised,  and  the 
light  of  the  moon  fell  full  upon  their  young  faces. 
They  ceased  speaking  after  Mantel  had  uttered 
those  solemn  words,  and  looked  out  over  the  house 
tops  to  the  water  of  the  great  river.  It  was  long 
after  midnight,  and  not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness. 
Fleecy  clouds  were  drifting  across  the  sky,  and  a 
vessel  under  full  sail  was  going  silently  down  the 
river  toward  the  open  sea.  They  had  involuntarily 
clasped  each  other's  hands,  and  as  their  hearts 
opened  and  disclosed  their  secrets  they  were  drawn 
closer  and  closer  together  until  their  arms  stole 
about  each  other's  necks.  For  a  few  brief  moments 
they  were  boys  again.  The  vices  that  had  hardened 
their  hearts  and  shut  their  souls  up  in  lonely  isola- 


350  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

tion  relaxed  their  hold.  That  sympathy  which  knit 
the  hearts  of  David  and  Johnathan  together  made 
their's  beat  as  one. 

David  broke  the  silence.  "I  cannot  bear  to  leave 
you,  Mantel.  Join  me.  Such  feelings  as  these 
which  stir  us  so  deeply  to-night  do  not  come  too 
often.  It  must  be  dangerous  to  resist  them.  I 
suppose  there  are  slight  protests  and  aspirations  in 
the  soul  all  the  time,  but  these  to-night  are  like  the 
flood  of  the  tide." 

"Yes,"  said  Mantel;  "the  Nile  flows  through 
Egypt  every  day,  but  flows  over  it  only  once  a 
year." 

"And  this  is  the  time  to  sow  the  seed,  isn't  it?" 

"So  they  say.  But  you  must  remember  that  you 
feel  this  more  deeply  than  I  do,  Davy.  I  am  moved. 
I  have  a  desire  to  do  better,  but  it  isn't  large 
enough.  It  is  like  a  six-inch  stream  trying  to 
turn  a  seven-foot  wheel. 

"Don't  make  light  of  it,  Mantel !" 

"I  don't  mean  to,  but  you  must  not  overestimate 
the  impressions  made  on  me.  I  am  not  so  good 
as  you  think." 

"I  wish  you  had  the  courage  to  be  as  good  as 
you  are." 

"But  there  is  no  use  trying  to  be  what  I  am  not. 
If  I  should  start  off  with  you,  I  should  never  be  able 
to  follow  you.  My  old  self  would  get  the  victory. 
In  the  long  run,  a  man  will  be  himself.  'Nature  is 
often  hidden,  sometimes  overcome — seldom  extin 
guished.'  " 


THE  GREAT  REFUSAL  35 l 

"What  a  mood  you  are  in,  Mantel !  It  makes  me 
shiver  to  hear  you  talk  so.  Here  I  am,  full  of  hope 
and  purpose;  my  heart  on  fire;  believing  in  life; 
confident  of  the  outcome;  and  you,  a  better  man 
by  nature  than  I  am,  sitting  here,  cold  as  a  block  of 
ice,  and  the  victim  of  despair!  I  ought  to  be  able 
to  do  something!  Sweet  as  life  is  to  me  to-night, 
I  feel  that  I  could  lay  it  down  to  save  you." 

"Dear  fellow !"  said  Mantel,  grasping  his  hands 
and  choking  with  emotion ;  "you  don't  know  how 
that  moves  me!  It  can't  seem  half  so  strange  to 
you  as  it  does  to  me ;  but  I  must  be  true  to  myself. 
If  I  told  you  I  would  take  this  step  I  should  not  be 
honest.  No!  Not  to-night!  Sometime,  perhaps. 
I  haven't  much  faith  in  life,  but  I  swear  I  don't 
believe,  bad  man  as  I  am,  that  anybody  can  ever 
go  clear  to  the  bottom,  without  being  rescued  by  a 
love  like  that!  I'll  never  forget  it,  Davy;  never! 
It  will  save  me  sometime;  but  you  must  not  talk 
any  more,  you  are  tired  out.  Go  to  bed,  friend, 
brother,  the  only  one  I  ever  really  had  and  loved. 
You  will  need  your  sleep.  Leave  me  alone,  and  I 
will  sit  the  night  out  and  chew  the  bitter  cud." 

It  was  not  until  daybreak  that  David  ceased  his 
supplications  and  lay  down  to  snatch  a  moment's 
rest.  When  he  awoke,  he  sprang  up  suddenly  and 
saw  Mantel  still  sitting  before  the  open  window 
where  he  left  him,  smoking  his  cigar  and  pondering 
the  great  problem. 

"I  have  had  a  wonderful  dream,"  he  said. 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Mantel. 


352  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"I  dreamt  that  I  was  swimming  alone  in  a  vast 
ocean, — weary,  exhausted,  desperate  and  sinking, — • 
but  just  as  I  was  going  down  a  hand  was  thrust 
out  of  the  sky,  and  although  I  could  not  reach  it, 
so  long  as  I  kept  my  eyes  on  it  I  swam  with  perfect 
ease ;  while,  just  the  moment  I  took  them  off,  my 
old  fatigue  came  back  and  I  began  to  sink.  When 
I  saw  this,  I  never  looked  away  for  even  a  second, 
and  the  sea  seemed  to  bear  me  up  with  giant  arms. 
I  swam  and  swam  as  easily  as  men  float,  day  after 
day  and  year  after  year,  until  I  reached  the  har 
bor." 

"Whose  hand  was  it?" 

"I  couldn't  tell." 

"Well,  swim  on  and  look  up,  Davy,  and  God 
bless  you/' 

They  parted  at  dawn,  one  to  break  through  the 
meshes  and  escape,  and  the  other — ! 

In  Australia,  when  drought  drives  the  rabbits 
southward,  the  ranchmen,  terrified  at  their  ap 
proach,  have  only  to  erect  a  woven  wire  fence  on 
the  north  side  of  their  farms  to  be  perfectly  safe, 
for  the  poor  things  lie  down  against  it  and  die  in 
droves — too  stupid  to  go  round,  climb  over,  or  dig 
under!  It  is  a  comfort  to  see  one  of  them  now  and 
then  who  has  determined  to  find  the  green  fields 
on  the  southward  side — no  matter  what  it  costs! 

Weak  and  bad  as  he  had  been,  David  at  least 
took  the  first  path  which  he  saw  leading  up  to  the 
light. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
THE  END  OF  EXILE 

"Every  one  goes  astray,  and  the  least  imprudent  Is  he  who 
repents  soonest."  —Voltaire. 

The  steamer  on  which  Corson  embarked  after  his 
overland  journey  from  New  York  City  to  Pitts- 
burg,  had  descended  the  Ohio  almost  as  far  as  Cin 
cinnati,  before  other  thoughts  than  those  which 
were  concerned  with  Pepeeta  and  his  spiritual  re 
generation  could  awaken  any  interest  in  his  mind. 
But  as  the  boat  approached  Cincinnati,  the  places, 
the  persons  and  the  incidents  of  his  childhood  world 
began  to  present  themselves  to  his  consciousness. 
An  irrepressible  longing  to  look  once  more  upon 
the  place  of  his  birth  and  the  friends  of  his  youth 
took  possession  of  his  mind. 

He  found,  on  inquiry,  that  the  boat  was  to  remain 
at  the  wharf  in  Cincinnati  for  several  hours,  and 
that  there  would  be  time  enough  for  him  to  make 
the  journey  to  his  old  home  and  back  before  she 
proceeded  down  the  river.  He  decided  to  do  so, 
and  observed  with  satisfaction  that  those  painful 
gropings  for  the  next  stepping  stone  across  the 
streams  of  action  which  had  been  so  persistent  and 
painful  a  feature  of  his  recent  life  had  given  place 
to  the  swift  intuitions  of  his  youth.  He  saw  his 
way  as  he  used  to  when  a  boy,  and  made  his 
decisions  rapidly  and  executed  them  fearlessly. 

353 


354  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  discovery  of  this  fact  gave  a  new  zest  and  hope 
to  life. 

In  a  few  moments  after  he  had  landed  at  the 
familiar  wharf  he  was  mounted  upon  a  fleet  horse, 
rushing  away  over  those  beautiful  rolling  hills 
which  fill  the  mind  of  the  traveler  with  uncloying 
delight  in  their  variety,  their  fertility  and  their 
beauty.  It  was  the  first  time  since  he  had  left  the 
farm  that  his  mind  had  been  free  enough  from 
passion  or  pain  to  bestow  its  full  attention  upon 
the  charms  of  Nature;  they  dawned  on  him  now 
like  a  new  discovery.  The  motion  of  the  horse, 
— so  long  unfamiliar,  so  easy,  so  graceful,  so 
rhythmical, — seemed  of  itself  to  key  his  spirits  to 
his  environment,  for  it  is  an  elemental  pleasure  to 
be  seated  in  the  saddle  and  feel  the  thrill  of 
power  and  rapid  motion.  The  rider's  eyes  bright 
ened,  his  cheeks  glowed,  his  pulses  bounded.  He 
gathered  up  the  beauties  of  the  world  around  him  in 
great  sheaves  of  delicious  and  thrilling  sensations. 
Long-forgotten  odors  came  sweeping  across  the 
fields,  rich  with  the  verdure  of  the  vernal  season, 
and  brought  with  them  precious  accompani 
ments  of  the  almost-forgotten  past.  The  rich  'and 
varied  colors  of  field  and  sky  and  forest  fed  his 
starved  soul  with  one  kind  of  beauty ;  and  the  sweet 
sounds  of  the  outdoor  world  intoxicated  him  with 
another.  The  low  of  cattle,  the  bleating  of  sheep, 
the  crowing  of  chanticleers,  the  cackling  of  hens, 
the  gobble  of  turkeys,  the  multitudinous  songs  of 
the  birds  enveloped  him  in  a  sort  of  musical  atmos- 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  355 

phere.  For  the  first  time  since  his  restoration  to 
hope,  the  past  seemed  like  a  dream,  and  these  few 
blissful  moments  became  a  prophecy  of  a  new  and 
grander  life.  "For,  if  the  burden  can  fall  off  for 
a  single  moment,  why  not  for  many  moments?" 
So  he  said  to  himself,  as  the  consciousness  of  his 
past  misery  and  his  unknown  future  thrust  their 
disturbing  faces  into  the  midst  of  these  blissful  emo 
tions. 

The  vague  joys  which  had  been  surging  through 
his  soul  became  vivid  and  well-defined  as  the 
details  of  the  landscape  around  his  old  home  began 
gradually  to  be  revealed.  At  first  he  had  recognized 
only  the  larger  and  more  general  features  like  the 
lines  of  hills,  the  valleys,  the  rivers ;  but  now  he 
began  to  distinguish  well-known  farms  and  houses, 
streams  in  which  he  had  fished,  groves  in 
which  he  had  hunted,  roads  over  which  he 
had  driven;  and  the  pleasure  of  reviving  old 
memories  and  associations  increased  with  every 
step  of  progress.  At  last  he  began  to  ascend  the 
high  hill  which  hid  the  house  of  his  childhood  from 
view.  He  reached  the  summit;  there  lay  the  vil 
lage  fast  asleep  in  the  spring  sunshine.  He  recog 
nized  it,  but  with  astonishment,  for  it  looked  like 
a  miniature  of  its  former  self.  The  buildings  that 
once  appeared  so  grand  had  shrunk  to  play 
houses.  The  broad  streets  had  contracted  and 
looked  like  narrow  lanes.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  to 
see  if  they  were  deceiving  him. 

An  unreality  brooded  mysteriously  over  every- 


THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 


thing.  It  was  the  same,  yet  not  the  same,  and 
he  paused  a  moment  to  permit  his  mind  to  be 
come  accustomed  to  these  alterations;  to  pon 
der  upon  the  reasons  for  this  change;  to  realize 
the  joy  and  sadness  which  mingled  in  his  heart; 
and  then  he  turned  into  a  side  road  to  escape  any 
possible  encounter  with  old  acquaintances. 

The  route  which  he  had  chosen  did  not  lead  to 
the  farm  house,  but  to  the  cemetery  where  the  body 
of  his  mother  lay  wrapped  in  her  dreamless  sleep; 
that  neglected  grave  was  drawing  him  to  itself  with 
a  magnetic  force.  He  who,  for  a  year,  had  thought 
of  her  scarcely  at  all,  now  thought  of  noth 
ing  else.  The  last  incident  in  her  life,  the  face  white 
with  its  intolerable  pain  of  confession,  the  gasp  for 
breath,  the  sudden  fall,  the  quiet  funeral,  his  own 
responsibility  for  this  tragic  death  —  he  lived  it  all 
over  and  over  again  in  an  instant  of  time  as 
grief,  regret,  remorse,  successively  swept  his 
heart.  Tying  his  horse  outside  the  lonely  burying 
ground,  he  threaded  his  way  among  the  myrtle- 
covered  graves  to  the  low  mound  which  marked 
her  resting  place,  approached  it,  removed  his  hat 
and  stood  silently,  reverently,  by  its  side. 

There  come  to  us  all  hours  or  moments  of  sud 
den  and  unexpected  disclosures  of  the  hidden  mean 
ing  of  life.  Such  an  one  came  to  David,  there  by 
that  lowly  grave.  He  saw,  as  in  the  light 
of  eternity,  the  grandeur  and  beauty  of  that  char 
acter  which  the  story  of  her  sin  and  suffering  had 
made  him,  in  his  immaturity,  misinterpret  and  de- 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  357 

spise!  He  did  not  comprehend  that  tragic  story 
when  she  told  it;  it  was  impossible  that  he  should, 
for  he  had  no  knowledge  or  experience  ade 
quate  to  furnish  him  the  clew.  Nothing  is 
more  inconceivable  and  impossible  to  a  child  than 
the  possibility  of  his  parents  dying  or  doing  wrong. 
When  he  awakens  to  consciousness  he  finds  around 
him  eternal  things, — rocks,  hills,  rivers,  stars,  par 
ents  !  They  all  seem  to  belong  to  the  same  order 
of  indestructible  existence,  and  he  would  as  soon 
expect  to  see  the  sun  blotted  from  heaven  as  a 
parent  removed  from  earth !  And  when  his  ethical 
perceptions  awake,  he  has  another  experience  of  a 
similar  character.  His  father  and  mother  stand  to 
him  for  the  very  moral  order  itself !  To  his  mind, 
it  is  inconceivable  that  they  should  ever  err,  and  the 
bare  suggestion  that  those  august  and  venerable 
beings  can  really  sin,  fills  him  with  horror  and 
incredulity.  If  he,  therefore,  sometime  learns  that 
they  have  committed  a  trifling  indiscretion,  he 
trembles,  and  if,  in  some  tragic  moment,  irresistible 
proof  is  brought  to  bear  on  him  that  they  have  been 
guilty  of  a  dark  and  desperate  deed,  the  whole  mor 
al  system  seems  to  undergo  a  sudden  and  final  col 
lapse  !  There  is  no  longer  any  standing-ground  be 
neath  his  feet  and  he  could  not  be  driven  into  a 
deeper  despair  if  God  himself  had  yielded  to  tempta 
tion.  This  discovery  and  this  despair  had  fallen 
to  the  lot  of  David,  and  he  had  cherished 
the  impressions,  formed  in  that  dark  hour,  through 
all  these  many  months.  But  now,  returning  to  the 


358  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

scenes  of  his  boyhood  and  bringing  back  his  bur 
dens  of  care  and  sin,  bringing  back  also  his  deep 
ened  experience  of  life  and  his  enlarged  ability  to 
comprehend  its  difficulties  and  sorrows,  he  sud 
denly  saw  the  conduct  and  character  of  his  mother 
in  a  new  light.  He,  too,  had  met  temptation,  had 
fallen,  had  gone  down  into  the  depths,  and  in  that 
awful  and  interpretative  experience,  comprehended 
the  victory  which  his  mother  had  won  on  the  field 
of  dishonor  and  defeat!  He  was  now  enabled  to 
reconstruct,  by  the  aid  of  his  enlightened  imagina 
tion,  a  true  picture  of  the  events  which  she  had 
sketched  so  imperfectly  in  those  few  brief  words. 
He  realized  what  she  must  have  had  to  struggle 
against,  and  could  measure  the  whole  weight  of 
guilt  and  despair  that  must  have  rested  on  her 
heart.  He  knew  only  too  well  how  easy  was  the 
road  into  darkness,  and  how  rugged  the  one  leading 
up  into  the  light;  yet  this  frail  woman  had  fol 
lowed  it  and  scaled  those  heights !  She  had  been 
able  to  put  that  past  into  the  background,  and  keep 
it  where  it  belonged.  She  had  hidden  her  sorrows 
in  her  heart;  nothing  had  daunted  her;  no  dis 
couragement  had  cast  her  down.  By  a  wonderful 
grace  she  had  concealed  her  sin  from  some,  and 
made  others  fear  even  to  whisper  the  knowledge 
they  possessed.  She  had  made  that  sin  a  torch  to 
illumine  her  future.  She  had  used  it  as  a  stepping 
stone  to  ascend  into  purity  and  holiness.  He  could 
not  remember  in  all  those  long  years  of  devo 
tion  and  of  love,  that  she  had  ever  permitted  him 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  359 

to  feel  a  moment's  distrust  of  her  perfect  pur 
ity  and  goodness;  and  this  seemed  to  him  a 
miracle  !  That  purity  and  goodness  must  have  been 
real !  So  protracted  an  hypocrisy  would  have  been 
impossible.  Whence,  then,  had  she  derived  the 
power  thus  to  rise  superior  to  her  past?  She  had 
shown  its  terrific  spell  over  her  sensibilities  by  dy 
ing  with  shame  when  she  at  last  proclaimed  it,  and 
yet  for  twenty  years  she  had  kept  it  under  her  feet 
like  a  writhing  dragon,  while  she  calmly  fought  her 
fight.  It  was  incredible,  sublime ! 

As  he  stood  there  by  her  grave,  measuring  this 
deep  and  tragic  experience  with  his  new  divining 
rod  of  sympathy,  there  rushed  upon  him  an  over 
mastering  desire  to  reveal  his  appreciation  to  that 
suffering  heart  beyond  the  skies.  A  feeling  of  bit 
terness  at  his  inability  to  do  this  frenzied  him;  a 
new  consciousness  of  the  irony  of  life  in  permitting 
him  to  make  these  discoveries  when  they  could 
do  her  no  good  plunged  him  suddenly  into  a  strug 
gle  with  the  darker  problems  of  being  which  for  a 
little  while  had  ceased  to  vex  him. 

"Do    all    the     appreciations    of    heroism    come  / 
too    late?"    he    asked    his    sad    heart.       "Do   we  \ 
acquire   wisdom    only    when    we    can    no   longer- 
be    guided    by  it?     Do    we    achieve    self-mastery } 
and    real    virtue    only    to    be    despised    by    our  J 
children?    Where  is  the  clue  to  this  tangle?    Oh!:. 
mother,  mother,  if  I  could  only  have  one  single  hour 
to  ask  thee  what  thou  didst  learn  about  this  awful 
mystery  in  those  lonely  years  of  struggle!     If  I 


360  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

could  only  tell  thee  of  my  penitence,  of  my  admira 
tion,  my  love !  But  it  is  too  late — too  late." 

With  this  despairing  cry  on  his  lips,  he  flung 
himself  upon  the  grave,  buried  his  face  in  the  green 
turf  and  burst  into  a  convulsive  passion  of  tears, 
such  tears  as  come  once  or  twice,  perhaps,  in  the 
lives  of  most  men,  when  they  are  passing  through 
the  awful  years  of  adjustment  to  the  incompre 
hensible  and  apparently  chaotic  experiences  of 
existence. 

Like  a  thunderstorm,  these  convulsions  clear  the 
atmosphere  and  give  relief  to  the  strained  tension  of 
the  soul.  At  length,  when  his  emotion  had  spent 
itself  in  long-drawn  sighs,  David  rose  in  a  calm 
and  tender  frame  of  mind,  plucked  a  bunch  of  vio 
lets  from  the  grave  and  reluctantly  turned  away. 

On  foot,  and  leading  his  horse,  he  entered  a  quiet 
and  secluded  path  which  led  past  the  rear  of  the 
farm.  He  had  not  consciously  determined  what  he 
should  do  next;  but  his  heart  impelled  him  irresist 
ibly  toward  that  little  bridge  where  he  had  encoun 
tered  Pepeeta  on  his  return  from  the  lumber  camp. 
It  was  at  that  place  and  that  hour,  perhaps,  that  he 
had  passed  through  the  deepest  experience  of 
his  whole  life,  for  it  was  there  that  the  full  power 
of  the  beauty  of  the  woman  in  whom  he  had  met 
his  destiny  had  burst  upon  him,  and  it  was  there 
that  for  the  first  time  he  had  consciously  surren 
dered  himself  to  those  rich  emotions  which  love 
enkindles  in  the  soul. 

Perhaps  our  spiritual  enjoyments  are  capable  of 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  361 

an  ever-increasing  development  and  intensity ;  but 
those  pleasures  that  belong  to  the  earthly  life  and 
are  excited  by  the  things  of  time  and  sense,  how 
ever  often  they  may  recur,  by  an  inviolable  law  of 
nature  attain  their  climax  in  some  one  single  ex 
perience,  just  as  there  is  in  the  passage  of  a  star 
across  the  sky  a  single  climactic  moment,  and  in  the 
life  of  a  rose  an  instant  when  it  reaches  its  most 
transcendent  beauty.  They  all  attain  their  zenith 
and  then  begin  to  wane;  that  one  brilliant  but 
transitory  instant  of  perfect  bliss  can  no  more  be 
recalled  than  the  passing  stroke  of  a  bell,  the  van 
ished  glory  of  a  sunset,  or  the  last  sigh  of  a  dying 
friend;  and  many  of  the  vainest  and  most  unsatis 
fying  struggles  of  life  are  expended  in  the  effort 
to  reproduce  that  one  evanescent  and  forevermore 
impossible  ecstasy. 

Possibly  Cavid  hoped  that  he  could  live  that 
perfect  moment  over  again  by  standing  on  that 
bridge!  It  was  thither  he  bent  his  steps,  and  as 
he  approached  it  there  did  come  back  faint  echoes, 
little  refluent  waves;  his  lively  imagination  repro 
duced  the  scene ;  the  dazzling  figure  really  seemed 
once  more  to  emerge  from  the  secluded  forest  path; 
he  almost  heard  the  sound  of  her  voice! 

He  threw  the  horse's  bridle  over  the  limb  of  a 
tree,  leaned  over  the  handrail  of  the  bridge  and 
looked  down  into  the  water.  The  stillness  of  the 
world,  the  slumber-song  of  the  stream,  the  haunting 
power  of  the  past  superinduced  a  mood  of  abstrac 
tion  so  common  in  other,  happier  days. 


362  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Oblivious  to  all  the  objects  and  events  of  that 
outside  world,  he  stood  there  dreaming  of  the  past. 
While  he  did  so,  Pepeeta,  following  her  daily  cus 
tom,  left  the  farm-house  to  take  an  evening  walk. 
She  also  sought  the  little  bridge.  Perhaps  she  was 
summoned  to  this  spot  by  some  telepathic  message 
from  her  lover;  perhaps  it  was  habit  that  impelled 
her,  perhaps  it  was  some  fascination  in  the  place  it 
self.  She  moved  forward  with  the  quiet  step  peculiar 
to  natures  which  are  sensitive  to  the  charm  of  the 
great  solitudes  of  the  world,  and  came  noiselessly 
out  from  the  low  bushes  behind  the  lonely  watcher. 
As  she  stepped  out  into  the  road,  she  caught  sight 
of  the  solitary  figure  and  her  heart,  anticipating 
her  eye  in  its  swift  recognition,  throbbed  so  vio 
lently  that  she  placed  her  hand  on  her  bosom  as  if 
to  still  it. 

"David!"  she  said  in  a  low  whisper. 

She  paused  to  observe  him  for  a  moment  and,  as 
he  did  not  stir,  began  to  move  quietly  towards  him 
as  he  stood  there  motionless — a  silhouette  against 
the  background  of  the  darkening  sky.  She  drew 
near  enough  to  touch  him ;  but  so  profound  was  his 
reverie  that  he  was  oblivious  of  her  presence.  It 
could  not  have  been  long  that  Pepeeta  waited,  al 
though  it  seemed  ages  before  he  moved,  sighed 
and  breathed  her  name. 

She  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He  turned,  and 
so  met  her  there,  face  to  face. 

It  was  an  experience  too  deep  for  language,  and 
their  emotions  found  expression  in  a  single  simple 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  363 

act.  They  clasped  each  other's  hands  and  stood 
silently  looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  After  many 
moments  of  silence  David  asked:  "Why  do  you 
not  speak  to  me,  Pepeeta?" 

"My  eyes  have  told  you  all,"  she  said. 
"But  what  they  say  is  too  good  to  be  believed! 
You  must  confirm  their  mute  utterance  with  a  liv-  f 
ing  word,"  he  cried. 

"I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you,"  she  replied. 
"You  love  me !    I  bless  you  for  it,  Pepeeta,  but 
there  is  something  else  that  I  must  know." 

"What  can  it  be?  Is  not  everything  compre 
hended  in  that  single  word?  It  is  all-embracing 
as  the  air!  It  enfolds  life  as  the  sky  enfolds  the 
world !" 

"Ah !    Pepeeta,  you  loved  me  when  we  parted, 
but  you  did  not  forgive  me !" 
She  dropped  her  eyes. 
"Have  you  forgiven  me  now  ?" 
"It  is  not  true  that  I  did  not  forgive  you,"  she 
replied,  looking  up  at  his  face  again.    "There  has 
never  been  in  my  heart  for  a  single  moment  any 
sense  of  a  wrong  which  I  could  not  pardon.    It  has 
been  one  of  the  awful  mysteries  of  this  experience 
that  I  could  not  feel  that  wrong !    When  I  tried  to 
feel  it  most,  my  heart  would  say  to  me,  'you  are  not 
sorry  that  he  loved  you,  Pepeeta!      You    would 
rather  that  all  this  agony  should  have  befallen  you 
than  that  he  should  not  have  loved  you  at  all !'    It 
is  this  feeling  that  has  bewildered  me,  David.    Ex 
plain  it  to  me.    Let  me  know  how  I  could  have  such 


364  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

feelings  in  my  heart  and  yet  be  good.  It  seems  as 
if  I  ought  to  hate  you ;  but  I  cannot.  I  love  you, 
love  you,  love  you." 

"But,  Pepeeta,  if  you  loved  me,  why  did  you 
leave  me  ?  I  do  not  comprehend.  How  could  you 
let  me  stand  in  the  darkness  under  your  window 
and  then  turn  away  from  it  into  the  awful  blackness 
and  solitude  to  which  I  fled?" 

"Do  not  reproach  me,  I  thought  it  was  my  duty, 
David." 

"I  do  not  reproach  you.  I  only  want  to  know 
your  inmost  heart." 

"I  do  not  know!  There  has  been  all  the  time 
something  stronger  than  myself  impelling  me.  I 
grew  too  weak  to  reason.  I  felt  that  the  heart  had 
reasons  of  its  own,  too  deep  for  the  mind  to  fathom, 
and  I  yielded  to  them.  I  was  only  a  woman  after 
all,  David.  Love  is  stronger  than  woman!  Oh! 
it  was  I  who  wronged  you.  I  ought  not  to  have 
forsaken  you.  Ought  I?  I  do  not  know,  even 
now.  Who  can  tell  me  what  is  right?  Who  can 
lead  me  out  of  this  frightful  labyrinth?  If  I  did 
wrong  in  seeking  you,  I  humbly  ask  the  pardon  of 
God,  and  if  I  did  wrong  in  abandoning  you,  I  ask 
forgiveness  in  all  lowliness  and  meekness  from  the 
man  I  wronged." 

"No,  Pepeeta,  you  have  never  wronged  me;  I 
alone  have  been  to  blame.  The  result  could 
not  have  been  really  different,  no  matter  what 
course  you  took.  The  scourge  would  have  fallen 
anyway !  All  that  has  happened  has  been  inevitable. 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  365 

Justice  had  to  be  vindicated.  If  it  had  not  come  in 
one  way,  it  would  in  another,  for  there  are  no  short 
cuts  and  evasions  in  tragedies  like  this !  Every 
result  that  is  attached  to  these  causes  must  be  drawn 
up  by  them  like  the  links  in  a  chain,  and  one  never 
knows  when  the  end  has  come." 

His  solemn  manner  and  earnest  words  alarmed 
Pepeeta. 

"Oh,  David,"  she  cried,  "it  cannot,  cannot  be  so 
awful.  Such  consequences  cannot  hang  upon  the 
deeds  we  commit  in  the  limitations  and  ignorance  of 
this  earthly  life." 

"Forgive  me,  Pepeeta,  I  should  not  talk  so.  These 
are  the  fears  of  my  darker  moments.  I  have 
brighter  thoughts  and  hopes.  There  is  a  quiet  feel 
ing  in  my  heart  about  the  future  that  grows  with 
the  passing  days.  God  is  good,  and  he  will  give 
us  strength  to  meet  whatever  comes.  We  must  live, 
and  while  we  live  we  will  hope  for  the  best.  Life  is 
a  gift,  and  it  is  our  duty  to  enjoy  it." 

"Oh  I  it  is  good  to  hear  you  say  that !  It  com 
forts  me.  I  think  it  cannot  be  possible  that  we 
should  not  be  able  to  escape  from  this  darkness  if 
we  are  willing  to  follow  the  divine  light." 

"I  think  so,  too,"  he  said. 

His  words  were  spoken  with  such  assurance  as 
to  awaken  a  vague  surmise  that  he  had  reasons 
which  he  had  not  told.  She  pressed  his  hands  and 
besought  him  to  explain. 

"Oh !  tell  me,"  she  said  eagerly ;  "is  there  any 
thing  new?  Has  anything  happened?" 


366  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Pepeeta,"  he  answered  slowly,  "we  have  been 
strangely  and  kindly  dealt  with.  It  is  not  quite  so 
bad  as  it  seemed,  for  I  did  not  kill  him." 

"You  did  not  kill  him!     What  do  you  mean?" 

"No,  it  is  a  strange  story!  I  thought  I  had 
killed  him.  I  knew  murder  was  in  my  heart.  It 
was  no  fault  of  mine  that  the  blow  was  not  fatal. 
I  left  him  in  the  road  for  dead.  But,  thank  God, 
he  did  not  die;  he  did  not  die  then!" 

"He  did  not  die  then  ?  Have  you  seen  him  ?  Is 
he  dead  now?  Tell  me !  Tell  me !" 

Quietly,  gently,  briefly  as  he  could,  he  narrated 
the  events  of  the  past  few  months,  and  as  he  did  so 
she  drew  in  short  breaths  or  long  inspirations  as 
the  story  shifted  from  phase  to  phase,  and  when 
at  last  he  had  finished,  she  clasped  her  hands  and 
gazed  up  into  the  depths  of  the  sky  with  eyes  that 
were  swimming  in  tears. 

"Poor  doctor,  poor  old  man,"  Pepeeta  sighed  at 
last.  "Oh !  How  we  have  wronged  him,  how  we 
have  made  him  suffer.  He  was  always  kind !  He 
was  rough,  but  he  was  kind.  Oh!  why  could  I  not 
have  loved  him?  But  I  did  not,  I  could  not.  My 
heart  was  asleep.  It  had  never  once  waked  from 
its  slumber  until  it  heard  your  voice,  David.  And, 
afterwards, — well  I  could  not  love  him!  But  why 
should  we  have  wronged  him  so?  How  base  it 
was!  How  terrible!  I  pity  him,  I  blame  myself 
— and  yet  I  cannot  wish  him  back.  Listen  to  me, 
David.  I  am  afraid  I  am  glad  he  is  dead.  What 
do  you  think  of  that?  Oh!  what  a  mystery  the 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  367 

human  heart  is  !  How  can  these  terrible  contradic 
tions  exist  together?  I  would  give  my  life  to  undo 
that  wrong,  and  yet  I  should  die  if  it  were  undone. 
All  this  is  in  the  heart  of  a  woman — so  much  of 
love,  so  much  of  hate,  for  I  should  have  hated  him, 
at  last!  I  cannot  understand  myself.  I  cannot 
understand  this  story.  What  does  all  this 
mean  for  us,  David?  Perhaps  you  can  see  the 
light  now,  as  you  used  to !  I  think  from  your  face 
and  your  voice  that  you  are  your  old  self  again.  Oh ! 
if  you  can  see  that  inner  light  once  more,  consult  it. 
Ask  it  if  there  is  any  reason  why  we  cannot  be 
happy  now?  Tell  it  that  your  Pepeeta  is  too  weak 
to  endure  this  separation  any  longer.  I  am  only  a 
woman,  David  !  I  cannot  any  longer  bear  life  alone. 
I  love  you  too  deeply.  I  cannot  live  without  you." 

Waiting  long  before  he  answered,  as  if  to  reflect 
and  be  sure,  David  said  quietly  but  confidently, 
"Pepeeta,  I  cannot  see  any  reason  why  we  should 
not  begin  our  lives  over  again,  starting  at  this  very 
place  from  which  we  made  that  false  beginning 
three  long  years  ago.  We  cannot  go  back,  but,  in 
#.  sense,  we  can  begin  again." 

"But  can  we  really  begin  again?"  she  asked. 
"How  is  it  possible?  I  do  not  see!  We  are  not 
what  we  were.  There  is  so  much  of  evil  in  our 
hearts.  We  were  pure  and  innocent  three  years 
ago.  Is  it  not  necessary  to  be  pure  and  inno 
cent  ?  And  how  can  we  be  with  all  this  fearful  past 
behind  us?  We  cannot  become  children  again!" 

"I  have  thought  much  and  deeply    about    it," 


368  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

David  responded.  I  know  not  what  subtle  change 
has  taken  place  within  me,  but  I  know  that  it  has 
been  great  and  real.  My  heart  was  hard,  but  now  it 
is  tender.  It  was  full  of  despair,  and  now  it  is  full  of 
hope.  I  am  not  as  innocent  as  I  was  that  night 
when  you  heard  me  speak  in  the  old  Quaker 
meeting-house,  or  rather  I  am  not  innocent  in  the 
same  way.  My  heart  was  then  like  a  spring 
among  the  mountains;  it  had  a  sort  of  virgin 
innocence.  I  had  sinned  only  in  thought,  and  in 
the  dreamy  imaginations  of  unfolding  youth.  It  is 
different  now ;  a  whole  world  of  realized,  actualized 
evil  lies  buried  in  the  depths  of  my  souT  ""TF'is 
there,  but  it  is  there  only  as  a  memory  and  not  as  a 
living  force.  There  must  in  some  way,  I  cannot 
tell  how,  be  a  purity  of  guilt  as  well  as  of  innocence, 
and  perhaps  it  is  a  purity  of  a  still  higher  and  finer 
kind.  There  was  a  peace  of  mind  which  I  had 
as  an  innocent  boy,  which  I  do  not  possess  now; 
but  I  have  another  and  deeper  peace.  There  was  a 
childish  courage ;  but  it  was  the  courage*  of  one  who 
had  never  been  exposed  to  danger.  There  is 
another  courage  in  my  heart  now,  and  it  is  the 
courage  of  the  veteran  who  has  bared  his  bosom 
to  the  foe!  I  know  not  by  what  strange  alchemy 
these  diverse  elements  of  evil  can  have  become 
absorbed  and  incorporated  into  this  newer  and  bet 
ter  life,  but  this  I  do  know,  and  nothing  can  make 
me  doubt  it — that  while  I  am  not  so  good,  yet  I 
am  better ;  while  I  am  not  so  pure,  yet  I  am  purer. 
Yes,  Pepeeta,  I  think  we  can  go  back  on  our  track. 


THE  END  OF  EXILE 

We  can  be  born  again!  We  can  once  more  be 
little  children.  I  feel  myself  a  little  child  to-night 
— I  who,  a  few  days  ago,  was  like  an  old  man, 
bowed  and  crushed  under  a  load  of  wretchedness 
and  misery!  God  seems  near  to  me;  life  seems 
sweet  to  me.  Let  us  begin  again,  Pepeeta.  We 
have  traveled  round  a  circle,  and  have  come  back 
to  the  old  starting  point.  Let  us  begin  again." 

"Oh !  David,"  she  said,  kissing  the  hands  she 
held;  "how  like  your  old  self  you  are  to-night. 
Your  words  of  hope  have  filled  my  soul  with  joy. 
Is  it  your  presence  alone  that  has  done  it,  or  is  it 
God's,  or  is  it  both  ?  A  change  has  come  over  the 
very  world  around  us.  All  is  the  same,  and  yet  all 
is  different.  The  stars  are  brighter.  The  brook  has 
a  sweeter  music.  There  is  something  of  heaven  in 
this  intoxicating  cup  you  have  put  to  my  lips !  I 
seem  to  be  enveloped  by  a  spiritual  presence !  Hush! 
Do  you  hear  voices  ?" 

The  excitement  had  been  too  intense  for  this 
sensitive  woman  to  endure  with  tranquillity.  Her 
heart,  her  conscience,  her  imagination  had  suffered 
an  almost  unendurable  strain.  She  flung  herself 
into  the  arms  of  her  lover  and  trembled  upon  his 
breast,  and  he  held  her  there  until  she  had  regained 
her  composure. 

"Do  you  really  love  me  yet?"  she  asked,  at  length, 
raising  her  face  and  gazing  up  into  his  with  an  ex 
pression  in  which  the  simple  affection  of  a  little 
child  was  strangely  blended  with  the  passionate 
love  of  an  ardent  and  adoring  woman. 


3/0  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"Love  you !"  he  cried ;  "your  face  has  been  the 
last  vision  upon  which  I  gazed  when  I  fell  into  a 
restless  slumber,  and  the  first  which  greeted  return 
ing  consciousness,  when  I  waked  from  my  troubled 
dream.  My  life  has  been  but  a  fragment  since 
we  parted;  a  part  of  my  individuality  seemed 
to  have  been  torn  away.  I  have  always  felt  that 
neither  time  nor  space  could  separate  us  for — " 

At  that  instant  the  horse  which  had  stood 
patiently  beside  them  on  the  bridge,  shook  his  head, 
rattled  his  bridle  and  whinnied. 

"Poor  fellow !  I  had  forgotten  all  about  him  in 
my  joy !"  said  David,  starting  at  the  sound,  and 
patting  his  shoulder.  "You  have  had  a  hard  run, 
and  are  tired  and  hungry.  I  must  get  you  to  the 
barn  and  feed  you.  They  will  miss  you  at  the 
stable  to-night,  but  I  will  send  you  back  to-morrow, 
or  ride  you  myself,  that  is  if  Pepeeta  wishes  to  be 
rid  of  me." 

He  said  this  teasingly,  but  smiled  at  her, — a 
tender  and  confident  smile. 

"Oh !  you  shall  never  leave  me  again — not  for  a 
moment,"  she  cried,  pressing  his  arm  against  her 
heart. 

He  paused  a  moment  and  looked  down  as  if  a 
new  thought  had  struck  him. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  she  asked. 

"Do  you  think  they  will  welcome  me  at  home?" 
he  said,  with  a  penitence  and  humility  that  touched 
her  deeply. 

"Welcome  you  home  ?"  she  exclaimed ;   "you  do 


THE  END  OF  EXILE  371 

not  know  them,  David.  They  talk  of  nothing  else. 
They  have  sent  messages  to  you  in  every  direction. 
The  door  is  never  locked,  and  there  has  never  been 
a  night  since  you  disappeared  that  a  candle  has  not 
burned  to  its  socket  on  the  sill  of  your  window; 
what  do  you  think  of  that  ?  You  do  not  know  them, 
David.  They  are  angels  of  mercy  and  goodness.  I 
have  been  selfish  in  keeping  you  so  long  to  myself. 
Come,  let  us  hasten." 

Just  at  that  instant  a  loud  halloo  was  heard — 
"Pepeeta,  Pepeeta,  Pepeeta !" 

"It  is  Steven — the  dear  boy !  He  has  missed  me. 
You  have  a  dangerous  rival,  David." 

She  said  this  with  a  merry  laugh  and  cried  out, 
"Steven,  Steven,  Steven !" 

"Where  are  you?"  he  called. 

"I  am  here  by  the  bridge !"  she  cried,  in  her  sil 
very  treble. 

"She  is  here  by  the  bridge !"  The  deep  bass  voice 
of  her  lover  went  rolling  through  the  woods. 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  then  they 
heard  a  joyous  shout,  "Uncle  David !  Uncle  David ! 
Oh !  Mother,  Father,  it  is  Uncle  David." 

There  was  a  crashing  in  the  bushes,  and  the  great 
half-grown  boy  bounded  through  them  and  flung 
himself  into  the  arms  extended  to  him,  with  all  the 
trust,  all  the  love,  all  the  devotion  of  the  happy 
days  of  old. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 
A  SELF-IMPOSED  EXPIATION 

"Man-like  is  it  to  fall  into  sin, 
Fiend-like  is  it  to  dwell  therein, 
Christ-like  is  it  for  sin  to  grieve, 
God-like  is  it  all  sin  to  leave." 

— Friedrich  von  Logau. 

David's  welcome  home  was  quiet,  cordial  and 
heartfelt.  The  Quaker  life  is  calm ;  storms  seldom 
appear  on  its  surface,  even  though  they  must  some 
times  agitate  its  depths  ;  mind  and  heart  are  brought 
under  remarkable  control ;  sympathy  and  chanty 
are  extended  to  the  erring;  hospitality  is  a  duty  and 
an  instinct ;  domestic  love  is  deep  and  powerful. 

When  David  had  frankly  told  his  story,  he  was 
permitted  to  resume  his  place  in  the  life  of  the  old 
homestead  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  He  ex 
pressed  to  his  brother  and  sister  his  love  for  Pe- 
peeta,  and  his  determination  to  make  her  his  wife 
in  lawful  marriage. 

They  assented  to  his  plans,  and  at  the  earliest 
possible  moment  the  minister  and  elders  of  the 
little  congregation  of  Friends  were  asked  to  meet, 
in  accordance  with  their  custom,  to  "confer  with 
him  about  a  concern  which  was  on  his  mind." 

They  came,  and  heard  his  story  and  his  inten 
tion,  told  with  straightforward  simplicity.  They, 
too,  touched  with  sympathy  and  moved  to  con 
fidence,  agreed  that  there  was  no  obstacle  to  the 
373 


A  SELF-IMPOSED  EXPIATION  373 

union.  The  date  of  the  wedding  was  placed  at  the 
end  of  the  month,  which,  by  their  ecclesiastical  law, 
must  elapse  after  this  avowal,  and  an  evening  meet 
ing  was  appointed  for  the  ceremony. 

In  the  meantime  David  remained  quietly  at  home, 
and  took  up  his  old  labors  as  nearly  as  possible 
where  he  had  laid  them  down.  Such  a  life  as  he 
had  been  leading  induces  a  distaste  for  manual 
labor,  and  sometimes  he  chafed  against  it.  Again 
and  again  he  felt  his  spirit  faint  within  him  when 
he  recalled  the  scenes  of  excitement  through  which 
he  had  passed,  and  looked  forward  to  years  of  this 
unvaried  drudgery ;  but  he  never  permitted  his  soul 
to  question  his  duty !  He  had  decided  in  the  most 
solemn  reflections  of  his  life  that  he  would  conquer 
himself  in  the  place  where  he  had  been  defeated, 
perform  the  tasks  which  he  had  so  ignominiously 
abandoned,  and  then,  when  he  had  demonstrated 
his  power  to  live  a  true  life  himself,  devote  his 
strength  to  helping  others. 

The  charms  of  this  pastoral  existence  gradually 
came  to  his  support  in  his  heroic  resolution.  The 
unbroken  quiet  of  the  happy  valley  which  had 
irritated  him  at  first,  grew  to  be  more  and  more 
a  balm  to  his  wounded  spirit.  The  society  of  the 
animal  world  lent  its  gracious  consolation ;  the 
great  horses,  the  ponderous  oxen,  the  doves  flut 
tering  and  cooing  about  the  barnyard,  the  suckling 
calves,  the  playful  colts,  all  came  to  him  as  to  a 
friend,  and  in  giving  him  their  confidence  and  affec 
tion  awakened  his  own. 


374  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

Above  all  Pepeeta  was  ever  near  him.  It  was 
no  wonder  that  her  beauty  threw  its  spell  over 
David's  spirit.  It  had  been  enhanced  by  sor 
row,  for  the  human  countenance,  like  the  land 
scape,  requires  shadow  as  well  as  sunshine  to  perfect 
its  charms.  But  the  burst  of  sunshine  which  had 
come  with  David's  return  had  brought  it  a  final 
consummation  which  transfigured  even  the  Quaker 
dress  she  had  adopted.  Her  bonnet  would  never 
stay  over  her  face  but  fell  back  on  her  shoulders, 
her  animated  countenance  emerging  from  this 
envelope  like  the  bud  of  a  rose  from  its  sheath. 
She  was  as  a  butterfly  at  that  critical  instant 
when  it  is  ready  to  leave  its  chrysalis  and  take  wing. 
She  was  a  soul  enmeshed  in  an  ethereal  body, 
rather  than  a  body  which  ensheathed  a  soul. 

Quietly  and  sedately  the  lovers  met  each  other 
at  the  table,  or  at  the  spring,  or  at  the  milking. 

And  when  the  labors  of  the  day  had  ended,  they 
sat  beneath  the  spreading  hackberry  trees,  or  wan 
dered  through  the  garden,  or  down  the  winding  lane 
to  the  meadow,  and  reviewed  the  past  with  sadness 
or  looked  forward  to  the  future  with  a  chastened 
joy.  Their  spirits  were  subdued  and  softened,  their 
love  took  on  a  holy  rather  than  a  passionate  cast, 
they  felt  themselves  beneath  the  shadow  of  an  awful 
crime,  and  again  and  again  when  they  grew  joyous 
and  almost  gay  they  were  checked  by  the  irrepres 
sible  apprehension  that  out  from  under  the  silently 
revolving  wheels  of  judgment  some  other  punish 
ment  would  roll. 


A   SELF-IMPOSED   EXPIATION  375 

Tenderly  as  they  loved  each  other,  and  sweet 
as  was  that  love,  they  could  not  always  be  happy 
with  such  a  past  behind  them !  In  proportion  to 
the  soul's  real  grandeur  it  must  suffer  over  its  own 
imperfections.  This  suffering  is  remorse.  In 
proud  and  gloomy  hearts  which  tell  their  secrets 
only  to  their  own  pillows,  its  tears  are  poison 
and  its  rebukes  the  thrust  of  daggers.  But  in 
those  which,  like  theirs,  are  gentle  and  tender  by 
nature,  remorseful  tears  are  drops  of  peniten 
tial  dew.  David  and  Pepeeta  suffered,  but 
their  suffering  was  curative,  for  pure  love  is: 
like  a  fountain;  by  its  incessant  gushing  from] 
the  heart  it  clarifies  the  most  turbid  streams; 
of  thought  or  emotion.  Each  week  witnessed  a 
perceptible  advance  in  peace,  in  rest,  in  quiet  hap 
piness,  and  at  last  the  night  of  their  marriage  ar 
rived,  and  they  went  together  to  the  meeting  house. 

The  people  gathered  as  they  did  at  that  other 
service  when  David  made  the  address  to  which 
Pepeeta  had  listened  with  such  astonishment  and 
rapture.  The  entire  community  of  Friends  was 
there,  for  even  Quakers  cannot  entirely  repress  their 
curiosity.  There  was  evidence  of  deep  feeling  and 
even  of  suppressed  excitement.  The  men  in  their 
broad-brimmed  hats,  the  women  in  their  poke  bon 
nets,  moved  with  an  almost  unseemly  rapidity 
through  the  evening  shadows.  The  pairs  and 
groups  conversed  in  rapid,  eager  whispers.  They 
did  not  linger  outside  the  door,  but  entered  hastily 


376  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  took  their  places  as  if  some  great  event  were 
about  to  happen. 

There  was  a  preliminary  service  of  worship,  and 
according  to  custom,  opportunity  was  given  for 
prayer  or  exhortation.  But  all  minds  were  too 
intent  upon  what  was  to  follow  to  enable  them  to 
take  part  with  spirit.  The  silences  were  frequent 
and  tedious.  The  young  people  moved  restlessly 
on  their  seats,  and  their  elders  rebuked  them  with 
silent  glances  of  disapproval.  All  were  in  haste, 
but  nothing  can  really  upset  the  gravity  of  these 
calm  and  tranquil  people,  and  it  was  not  until  after 
a  suitable  time  had  elapsed  that  the  leader  of  the 
meeting  arose  and  said:  'The  time  has  arrived 
when  David  and  Pepeeta  are  at  liberty  to  proceed 
with  their  marriage,  unless  there  be  some  one 
who  can  show  just  cause  why  this  rite  should  not 
be  solemnized." 

A  flutter  ran  through  the  assembly,  and  a  mo 
ment  of  waiting  ensued;  then  David  rose,  while 
every  eye  was  fixed  on  him. 

"My  friends,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  whose  gentle 
ness  and  sweetness  stirred  their  hearts;  "you  have 
refrained  from  inquiring  into  the  story  of  my  life 
during  the  three  years  of  my  absence.  I  would  be 
glad  if  I  could  withhold  it  from  your  knowledge; 
but  I  feel  that  I  must  make  a  confession  of  my 
sins." 

In  the  death-like  stillness  he  began.  The  narra 
tive  was  in  itself  dramatic,  but  the  deep  feeling  of 
him  who  told  it,  his  natural  oratory  and  the  hearers' 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   EXPIATION  377 

intent  interest,  lent  to  it  a  fascination  that  at  times 
became  almost  unendurable.  Sighs  were  often 
heard,  tears  were  furtively  wiped  away,  criticism 
was  disarmed,  and  the  tenderness  of  this  illicit 
but  passionate  and  determined  love,  blinded  even 
those  calm  and  righteous  listeners  to  its  darker 
and  more  desperate  phases.  By  an  almost  infallible  j 
instinct  we  discover  true  love  amid  fictitious,  un-j 
worthy  and  evil  elements;  and  when  seen  there  is 
something  so  sublimely  beautiful  that  we  prostrate 
ourselves  before  it  and  believe  against  evidence, 
even,  that  sooner  or  later  it  will  ennoble  and  con 
secrate  those  who  feel  it. 

When  David  had  completed  the  narrative  he  con 
tinued  as  follows :  "It  is  now  necessary  that  I 
should  convince  you,  if  I  can,  that  with  my  whole 
soul  I  have  repented  of  this  evil  that  I  have  done, 
and  that  I  have  sought,  and  I  hope  obtained,  pardon 
for  what  is  irreparable,  and  am  determined  to  undo 
what  I  can.  It  is  with  awe  and  gratitude,  my 
friends,  that  I  acknowledge  the  aid  of  heaven. 
From  the  logical  and  well-deserved  conse 
quences  of  this  sin  I  did  not  escape  alone! 
I  was  snatched  from  it  like  a  brand  from  the 
burning!  No  mortal  mind  could  have  planned 
or  executed  my  salvation.  It  is  marked  by  evi 
dences  of  Divine  power  and  wisdom.  Through  a 
series  of  experiences  almost  too  strange  to  be  cred 
ible,  I  have  been  drawn  back  here  to  the  scenes 
of  my  childhood,  to  encounter  the  one  I  have 
wronged  and  to  find  myself,  so  far  as  I  know,  able 


3/8  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

not  only  to  make  reparation,  but  to  enjoy  the  bliss 
of  a  love  of  which  I  am  unworthy.  If  I  were  wise 
enough,  I  would  set  before  you  the  spiritual  mean 
ing  of  this  terrible  experience,  but  I  am  not.  Three 
years  ago  I  stood  here  in  boyish  confidence  and 
boldly  expounded  the  mysteries  of  our  human  life. 
It  is  only  when  we  know  nothing  of  life  that  we 
feel  able  to  interpret  it !  Now  that  I  have  seen  it, 
tasted  it,  drunk  the  cup  almost  to  the  dregs — I  am 
speechless.  Three  facts,  however,  stand  out  be 
fore  my  vision — sin,  punishment,  pardon!  I  have 
sinned;  I  have  suffered;  I  have  been  forgiven.  I 
have  been  fully  pardoned,  but  I  feel  that  I  have  not 
been  fully  punished!  There  are  issues  of  such  an 
experience  as  this  that  cannot  be  brought  to  light 
in  a  day,  a  year,  perhaps  not  in  a  lifetime.  What 
ever  they  are,  I  must  await  them  and  meet  them; 
but  as  it  is  permitted  a  man  to  know  his  own  mind, 
when  he  is  determined  so  to  do,  I  know  that  I  have 
turned  upon  this  sin  with  loathing!  I  know  that 
I  am  ready  to  take  up  my  burden  where  I  left  it 
years  ago.  I  know  that  I  would  do  anything  to 
atone  for  the  evil  which  I  have  wrought  to  others. 
I  mean,  if  it  seem  good  to  you,  here  and  now  to 
claim  as  my  bride  her  into  whose  life  I  have  brought 
a  world  of  sorrow.  I  mean,  if  God  permits  me,  to 
live  quietly  and  patiently  among  you  until  I  have 
so  recruited  my  spiritual  strength  that  I  can  go 
forth  into  the  great  world  of  sorrow  and  of  sin 
which  I  have  seen,  and  extend  to  others  a  hand  of 
helpfulness  such  as  was  stretched  out  to  me  at  the 


A  SELF-IMPOSED  EXPIATION          379 

moment  of  my  need ;  but  if  there  is  any  one  here 
to  whom  God  has  given  a  message  for  me,  whether 
it  be  to  approve  or  condemn  my  course,  I  trust  that 
I  shall  have  grace  to  receive  it  meekly." 

He  took  his  seat,  and  it  seemed  for  a  few  mo 
ments  that  every  person  in  the  room  had  yielded 
heart  and  judgment  to  this  noble  and  modest 
appeal.  But  there  was  among  them  one  whose 
stern  and  unyielding  sense  of  justice  had  not  been 
appeased.  He  was  a  man  who  had  often  suffered 
for  righteousness  sake  and  who  attached  more 
value  to  the  testimony  of  a  clear  conscience  than 
to  any  earthly  dignity.  He  slowly  and  solemnly 
rose.  His  form  was  like  that  of  a  prophet  of  an 
cient  days.  His  deep-set  eyes  glowed  like  two 
bright  stars  under  the  cloudy  edge  of  his  broad- 
brimmed  hat.  His  face  was  emaciated  with  a  self- 
denial  that  bordered  upon  asceticism,  and  wan  with 
ceaseless  contemplations  of  the  problems  of  life, 
death  and  immortality.  Not  a  trace  of  tender  emo 
tion  was  evident  on  features,  which  might  have 
been  carved  in  marble.  It  was  impossible  to  con 
ceive  that  he  had  ever  been  young,  and  there 
seemed  a  bitter  irony  in  the  effort  of  such  a  man 
to  judge  the  cause  of  a  love  like  that  which  pleaded 
for  satisfaction  in  the  hearts  of  David  and  Pepeeta, 
and  to  pronounce  upon  the  destinies  of  those 
whose  souls  were  still  throbbing  with  passion. 

But  such  was  the  purpose  of  the  man.  His  first 
words  sounded  on  the  stillness  like  an  alarm  bell 


380  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  shook  the  souls  of  listeners  with  a  sort  of  ter 
ror. 

"We  did  not  seek  to  try  this  cause,"  he  said.  "It 
was  brought  before  us  by  the  wish  of  this  sinful 
man  himself.  But  if  we  must  judge,  let  us  judge 
like  God!  We  read  of  Him — that  he  'lays  right- 
J  eousness  to  the  line  and  judgment  to  the  plummet.' 
Let  us  do  the  same.  That  a  great  wrong  hath 
been  done  is  evident  to  every  mind.  It  is  not 
meet  that  such  wrongs  should  go  unpun 
ished!  These  two  transgressors  have  suffered; 
but  who  believes  that  such  wrongs  may  justly  be 
so  soon  followed  by  felicity?  It  would  be  an  en 
couragement  to  evil-doers  and  a  premium  upon 
vice !  Who  would  refrain  from  violently  rending 
the  marriage  bonds  or  sundering  any  sacred  tie,  if 
in  a  few  short  months  the  fruit  of  the  guilty  deed 
might  be  eaten  in  peace  by  the  culprit?  What 
assurance  may  we  have  that  the  lesson  which  has 
been  but  superficially  graven  on  this  guilty  heart 
may  not  be  obliterated  in  the  enjoyment  of  tri 
umph?  Why  should  these  youths  make  such  un 
seemly  haste?  If  they  are  indeed  in  earnest  to  seek 
the  truth  and  lay  to  heart  the  meaning  of  this  ex 
perience  into  which  their  sinful  hearts  have  led 
them,  let  them  of  their  own  accord  and  out  of  their 
humble  and  contrite  hearts  devote  a  year  to  medi 
tation  and  prayer.  Let  them  show  to  others 
they  have  learned  that  to  live  righteously  and 
soberly,  and  not  to  grasp  ill-gotten  gains  or  enjoy 
unhallowed  pleasures,  is  the  chief  end  of  human 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   EXPIATION  381 

life !  The  hour  is  ripe  for  such  a  demonstration. 
We  have  seen  other  evidences  among  us  of  an  un 
holy  hungering  after  the  unlawful  pleasures  of  life. 
It  is  time  that  a  halt  were  called.  If  this  community 
is  dedicated  to  righteousness,  then  let  us  exalt  the 
standard.  It  is  at  critical  moments  like  this  that 
history  is  made  and  character  formed.  If  we 
weaken  now,  if  we  permit  our  hearts  to  overpower 
our  consciences,  God  will  smite  us  with  His  wrath, 
vice  will  rush  upon  us  like  a  flood,  and  we  shall  be 
given  over  to  the  lust  of  the  flesh  and  the  pride  of 
life !  To  the  law  and  to  the  testimony,  my  breth 
ren/  " 

With  his  long  arm  extended  and  his  deep-set 
eyes  glowing,  he  repeated  from  memory  the  solemn 
words : 

'  'Behold  ye  trust  in  lying  words  that  cannot 
profit.  Will  ye  steal,  murder  and  commit  adultery 
and  swear  falsely,  and  burn  incense  to  Baal,  and 
walk  after  other  gods  whom  ye  know  not,  and 
come  and  stand  before  me  in  this  house  which  is 
called  by  my  name  and  say,  "We  are  delivered  to 
do  all  these  abominations?"  Is  this  house  which  is 
called  by  my  name,  become  a  den  of  robbers  in 
your  eyes?  Behold,  even  I  have  said  it,  saith  the 
Lord.  But  go  ye  now  into  my  place  which  was 
Shiloh,  where  I  set  my  name  at  the  first,  and  see 
what  I  did  to  it  for  the  wickedness  of  my  people 
Israel!  And  now  because  ye  have  done  all  these 
works,  saith  the  Lord — and  I  spake  unto  you  (ris 
ing  up  early  and  speaking),  but  ye  heard  not,  and 


382  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

I  called  you  but  ye  answered  not — therefore  will 
I  do  unto  this  house  which  is  called  by  my  name 
(wherein  ye  trust)  and  unto  the  place  which  I  gave 
unto  you  and  your  fathers,  as  I  have  done  to  Shiloh! 
And  I  will  cast  you  out  of  my  sight — even  the 
whole  people  of  Ephraim !  Therefore  pray  not  thou 
for  this  people,  neither  lift  up  cry  nor  prayers  for 
them,  neither  make  intercession  to  me — for  I  will 
not  hear  thee !' 

''This  is  my  message!  This  is  the  advice  ye  have 
invited!  Wait  a  year!  Watch  and  pray!  Fit 
yourselves  for  the  enjoyment  of  your  love  by  re 
pentance." 

The  impression  made  by  these  solemn  words  was 
tremendous.  It  was  as  if  eternity  had  suddenly 
dawned  in  that  dim-lit  room,  and  the  leaves  of  the 
book  of  doom  had  been  opened. 

There  had  been  stillness  before,  but  now  there 
was  the  silence  of  the  grave,  and  at  this  dramatic 
moment  one  of  the  tallow  candles  whose  feeble 
light  had  served  but  to  render  the  darkness  visible, 
spluttered,  went  out,  and  intensified  the  silence  with 
a  meaningless  and  exasperating  sound.  No  one 
knew  how  to  break  the  spell  which  these  intense 
and  terrible  words  had  cast  over  them.  Their 
limbs  and  faculties  were  both  benumbed. 

Upon  Pepeeta  this  message  had  fallen  like  a 
thunderbolt.  Her  Oriental  imagination,  her 
awakened  conscience,  her  throbbing  heart  had  all 
been  thrilled.  She  did  not  move;  her  eyes  were 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   EXPIATION  3^3 

still  fixed  on  the  prophet;  her  face  was  white; 
her  hands  were  clasped  tightly  in  her  lap. 

David  leaned  forward  in  his  seat  and  list 
ened  like  a  culprit  hearing  sentence  from  a  judge. 
Those  who  were  closely  observing  his  noble 
countenance  saw  it  suddenly  light  up  with 
the  glow  of  a  spiritual  ecstasy,  and  rightly  con 
jectured  that  he  was  burning  with  the  zeal  of 
martyrdom.  He  saw  his  way,  for  the  first  time,  to 
a  worthy  expiation  of  his  sin.  The  prophet  had  in 
terpreted  the  purpose  of  God  and  pointed  out  the 
path  of  duty.  He  started  to  his  feet,  but  at  the  same 
instant  over  in  the  corner  of  the  room  rose  the 
figure  of  a  man  whose  full  form,  benignant  counte 
nance  and  benevolent  manner  afforded  the  most 
marked  contrast  to  that  of  the  Jeremiah  who  had 
electrified  them  by  his  appeal  to  righteousness. 

He  moved  toward  one  of  the  half  dozen  candles 
which  were  still  burning,  and  stood  within  the 
narrow  circle  of  its  feeble  rays.  Drawing  from  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  coat  a  well-worn  volume  he 
opened  it,  held  it  up  to  the  light  and  began  to  read. 
The  tones  of  his  voice  were  clear  and  mellifluous, 
his  articulation  slow  and  distinct,  and  his  soul 
seemed  permeated  with  the  wondrous  depth  and 
beauty  of  what  is  perhaps  the  most  exquisite  pass 
age  in  the  literature  of  the  world.  It  was  the  story 
of  the  prodigal  son. 

As  he  proceeded,  and  that  brief  but  perfect  drama 
unfolded  itself  before  the  imagination  of  his  hear 
ers,  it  was  as  if  they  had  never  heard  it  before,  or 


384  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

at  least  as  if  its  profound  import  had  never  been 
revealed  to  their  dull  minds.  Intimations  and  sug 
gestions  which  had  never  been  disclosed  to  them 
came  out  like  lines  written  in  sensitive  ink,  under 
the  influence  of  light  and  heat.  The  living  medium 
through  which  they  were  uttered  seemed  slowly 
to  melt  away,  and  as  in  a  dissolving  view,  the  sub 
lime  teacher,  the  humble  Galilean  stood  before 
them,  and  they  heard  his  voice!  The  last  words 
died  away ;  the  reader  took  his  seat  without  utter 
ing  a  single  comment.  Not  a  person  moved. 

Each  heart  in  that  silent  room  was  thrilled  with 
emotions  which  were  common  to  all.  But  there 
was  one  which  had  a  burden  all  its  own. 

The  demure  Quaker  maiden  who  had  looked  love 
out  of  her  dove-like  eyes  three  years  ago  when 
Pepeeta  appeared  for  the  first  time  among  these 
quiet  folk,  was  in  her  old  familiar  seat.  Her  life  had 
never  been  the  same  since  that  hour,  for  the  man 
whom  she  loved  with  all  the  deep  intensity  of  which 
a  heart  so  young,  so  pure,  so  true  was  capable,  had 
been  suddenly  stolen  from  her  by  a  stranger.  Her 
thwarted  love  had  never  found  expression,  and  she 
had  borne  her  pain  and  loss  as  became  the  child 
of  a  religion  of  silence,  patience  and  fortitude.  But 
the  wound  had  never  healed,  and  now  she  was  com 
pelled  to  be  a  sad  and  hopeless  spectator  of  another 
scene  which  sealed  her  fate  and  made  her  future 
hopeless.  Her  bonnet  hid  the  sad  face  from  view, 
as  her  heart  hid  its  secret. 

The  turn  which  had  been  given  to  the  emotions 


A  SELF-IMPOSED   EXPIATION          3^5 

of  these  quiet  people  by  the  reading  of  the  parable 
had  been  so  sudden  and  so  powerful  that  perhaps 
not  a  single  person  in  the  room  doubted  that  David 
and  Pepeeta  would  at  once  rise  and  enter  into  that 
holy  contract  for  which  the  way  seemed  to  have 
been  so  easily  opened  by  the  tender  story  of  the 
father's  love  for  the  prodigal  son. 

But  it  was  the  unexpected  which  happened.  The 
soul  of  David  Corson  had  passed  through  one  of 
those  genuine  and  permanent  revolutions  which 
sometimes  take  place  in  the  nature  of  man.  He 
had  completed  the  cycle  of  revolt  and  anarchy  to 
which  he  had  been  condemned  by  his  inheritance 
from  a  wild  and  profligate  father.  Whether  that 
fever  had  run  its  natural  course  or  whether  as 
David  himself  believed,  he  had  been  rescued  by 
an  act  of  divine  intervention,  it  is  certain  that  the 
change  was  as  actual  as  that  which  takes  place  when 
a  grub  becomes  a  butterfly.  It  was  equally  certain 
that  from  this  time  onward  it  was  the  mental  and 
spiritual  characteristics  of  his  mother  which  mani 
fested  themselves  in  his  spiritual  evolution. 

He  became  his  true  self — a  saint,  an  ascetic,  a  I 
mystic,  a  potential  martyr. 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet  a  moment  after  the 
reader  had  finished,  his  face  shining  with  an  inward 
light  and  glowing  with  a  sublime  purpose,  all  be 
lieved  that  he  was  about  to  summon  Pepeeta  to 
their  marriage. 

What  was  the  astonishment,  then,  when  in  rapt 
words  he  began: 


386  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

"God  has  spoken  to  us,  my  friends.  We  have 
heard  his  voice.  It  is  too  soon  for  me  to  enjoy  this 
bliss!  Yes,  I  will  wait!  I  will  dedicate  this  year  to 
meditation  and  prayer.  Pepeeta,  wilt  thou  join  me 
in  this  resolution?  If  thou  wilt,  let  the  betrothal  of 
this  night  be  one  of  soul  to  soul  and  both  our  souls 
to  God !  Give  me  thine  hand." 

Still  under  the  spell  of  strange  spiritual  emotions 
to  which  her  sensitive  spirit  vibrated  like  the  strings 
of  an  /Eolian  harp,  Pepeeta  rose,  and  placing  her 
hands  in  those  of  her  lover,  looked  up  into  his  face 
with  a  touching  confidence,  an  almost  adoring  love. 
It  was  more  like  the  bridal  of  two  pure  spirits  than 
the  betrothal  of  a  man  and  woman! 

Not  one  of  those  who  saw  it  has  ever  forgotten 
that  strange  scene;  it  is  a  tradition  in  that  com 
munity  until  this  day.  They  felt,  and  well  they 
might,  those  strange  people  who  had  dedicated 
themselves  and  their  children  to  the  divine  life,  that 
in  this  scene  their  little  community  had  attained 
the  zenith  of  its  spiritual  history. 

No  wonder  that  from  an  English  statesman  this 
eulogy  was  once  wrung:  "By  God,  sir,  we  cannot 
afford  to  persecute  the  Quakers !  Their  religion 
may  be  wrong,  but  the  people  who  cling  to  an  idea 
are  the  very  people  we  want.  If  we  must  perse 
cute — let  us  persecute  the  complacent !" 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 
FASTING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS 

"So  great  Is  the  good  I  look  for,  that  every  hardship  delights 
me."  —St.  Francis. 

The  period  of  our  country's  history  in  which 
these  characters  were  formed  was  one  of  tremen 
dous  moral  earnestness.  In  that  struggle  in  which 
man  pitted  himself  against  primeval  forest  and 
aboriginal  inhabitant,  the  strongest  types  of  man 
hood  and  womanhood  were  evolved,  and  those 
who  conceived  the  idea  of  living  a  righteous  life  set 
themselves  to  its  realization  with  the  same  energy 
with  which  they  addressed  themselves  to  the  con 
quest  of  nature  itself.  To  multitudes  of  them,  this 
present  world  took  a  place  that  in  the  fullest  sense 
of  the  word  was  secondary  to  that  other  world  in 
which  they  lived  by  anticipation. 

David  Corson  was  only  one  of  many  who,  to  a 
degree  which  in  these  less  earnest  or  at  least  more 
materialistic  times  appears  incredible,  had  deter 
mined  to  trample  the  world  under  their  feet.  He 
awoke  next  morning  with  an  unabated  purpose 
and  at  an  early  hour  set  resolutely  about  its  execu 
tion.  He  bade  a  brave  farewell  to  Pepeeta,  ex 
horted  her  to  seek  with  him  that  preparation  of 
heart  which  alone  could  fit  them  for  the  future,  and 
then  with  a  bag  of  provisions  over  his  shoulder 

387 


388  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  an  axe  in  his  hand  started  forth  to  carry  out  a 
plan  which  he  had  formed  in  the  night. 

At  the  head  of  the  little  valley  where  Pepeeta 
had  built  her  gypsy  fire,  and  experienced  her  great 
disillusionment,  was  a  piece  of  timber  land  belong 
ing  to  his  mother's  estate.  He  determined  to  make 
a  clearing  there  and  establish  a  home  for  himself 
and  Pepeeta. 

He  wisely  calculated  that  the  accomplishment  of 
this  arduous  task  would  occupy  his  mind  and 
strength  through  the  year  of  expiation  which  he 
had  condemned  himself  to  pass. 

It  is  one  of  the  most  impressive  spectacles  of 
human  life  to  see  a  man  enter  a  primeval  forest  and 
set  himself  to  subdue  nature  with  no  implement 
but  an  axe!  Those  of  us  who  require  so  many 
luxuries  and  who  know  how  to  maintain  existence 
only  by  the  use  of  so  many  curious  and  powerful 
pieces  of  mechanism  would  think  ourselves  help 
less  indeed  in  the  center  of  a  wilderness  with  noth 
ing  but  an  axe  or  a  rifle! 

No  such  apprehensions  troubled  the  heart  of  the 
young  woodsman,  for  from  his  earliest  childhood 
he  had  handled  that  primitive  implement  and  knew 
its  exhaustless  possibilities.  He  was  young  and 
strong,  for  reckless  as  his  recent  life  had  been,  the 
real  sources  of  his  physical  vitality  had  not  been 
depleted. 

When  David  had  passed  out  of  sight  of  the 
house  and  entered  the  precincts  of  the  quiet 
forest,  there  surged  up  from  his  heart  those 


FASTING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS         389 

mighty  impulses  and  irresistible  tides  of  energy 
which  are  the  sublime  inheritance  of  youth.  He 
counted  off  the  months  and  they  seemed  to  him  like 
days.  Already  he  heard  the  monarchs  of  the  forest 
fall  beneath  his  blows,  already  he  saw  the  walls  of 
his  log  cabin  rising  in  an  opening  of  the  vast  wil 
derness,  already  he  beheld  Pepeeta  standing  in  the 
open  door.  The  vast  panorama  of  this  virgin  world 
began  to  unroll  itself  to  his  delighted  vision.  The 
splendid  spectacle  of  a  morning  as  new  and  won 
derful  as  if  there  had  never  been  another,  drew 
his  thoughts  away  from  himself  and  his  cares.  The 
dew  was  sparkling  on  the  grass ;  the  meadow  larks 
were  singing  from  every  quarter  of  the  fields 
through  which  he  was  passing ;  the  great  limbs  of 
the  trees  were  tossed  by  the  fresh  breezes  of  June. 
Everywhere  were  color,  music,  fragrance,  motion. 
The  burden  rolled  from  his  heart;  remorse  and 
guilt  faded  like  dreams ;  the  sad  past  lost  its  hold ; 
the  present  and  the  future  were  radiant !  To  even 
the  worst  of  men,  in  such  surroundings,  there  come 
moments  of  exemption  from  the  ennui  and  shame 
of  life,  and  to  this  deep  soul  which  had  issued,  puri 
fied,  from  the  fires  through  which  it  had  passed, 
they  lengthened  into  glorious  hours,  hours  such  as 
kindled  on  the  lips  of  the  poet  those  exultant  and 
exquisite  words: 


"The  year's  at  the  spring 
And  day's  at  the  morn; 
Morning's  at  seven; 
The  hillside's  dew-pearled; 


390  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

The  lark's  on  the  wing; 
The  snail's  on  the  thorn; 
God's  in  his  heaven — 
All's  right  with  the  world!" 

He  climbed  a  steep  hillside,  descended  into  a 
secluded  and  beautiful  valley,  pressed  his  way 
through  dense  underbrush,  and  while  the  day  was 
still  young  stood  on  the  spot  where  he  had  de 
termined  to  lay  the  foundation  of  his  cabin. 

Two  ranges  of  hills  came  together  and  enclosed 
it  as  if  in  giant  arms.  Two  pure  crystal 
springs  issued  from  clefts  in  the  bases  of  these  hills, 
and  after  flowing  towards  each  other  for  perhaps 
a  quarter  of  a  mile,  mingled  their  waters  in  a  brawl 
ing  brook.  It  was  at  the  point  of  their  junction 
that  David  had  determined  to  erect  that  primitive 
structure  which  has  afforded  a  home  to  so  many 
families  in  our  American  wildernesses.  He  threw 
his  bundle  down  and  gazed  with  admiration  on  the 
scene. 

Here  was  the  virgin  and  unprofaned  loveliness  of 
Nature.  He  felt  her  charm  and  prostrated  himself 
before  her  shrine.  But  he  rendered  to  that  in 
visible  spirit  of  which  these  forms  were  only  an 
imperfect  manifestation,  a  worship  deeper  still,  and 
by  an  instinct  of  pure  adoration  lifted  his  face  to 
ward  the  sky. 

Having  refreshed  his  soul  by  this  communion, 
he  drank  a  deep  draught  of  the  sparkling  water  at 
the  point  where  the  rivulets  met.  Then  he  threw 
off  his  coat.,  took  his  axe  in  hand  and  selected  a  tree 
on  which  to  begin  his  attack. 


FASTING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS         391 

It  was  an  enormous  oak  which,  with  roots  struck 
deep  into  the  soil  and  branches  lifted  high  and 
spread  wide  in  the  air,  had  maintained  itself  success 
fully  against  innumerable  foes  for  perhaps  a  thou 
sand  years.  He  reflected  long  before  he  struck, 
for  to  him  as  to  all  lovers  of  nature  there  is  a  certain 
inviolable  sacredness  about  a  tree. 

"Should  you  see  me  at  the  point  of  death,"  said  I 
Rousseau,  "carry  me  under  the  shade  of  an  oak! 
and  I  am  persuaded  I  shall  recover." 

David  was  a  lover  of  trees.  From  the  summits 
of  the  hills  he  had  often  gazed  down  upon  the  for 
ests  and  observed  how  "all  the  tree  tops  lay 
asleep  like  green  waves  on  the  sea."  He  had 
harvested  the  fruits  of  the  apple  and  peach, 
clubbed  the  branches  of  the  walnut,  butternut  and 
beach,  and  boiled  the  sap  of  the  maple.  He  had 
seen  the  trees  offer  their  hospitable  shelter  to  the 
birds  and  the  squirrels,  had  basked  beneath  their 
umbrageous  shadows  and  had  listened  to  their 
whispers  in  the  summer,  and  to  their  wild  music 
"when  winter,  that  grand  old  harper,  smote  his 
thunder-harp  of  pines." 

It  cost  him  pain  to  lay  violent  hands  on  a  thing  so 
sacred;  nevertheless  he  swung  his  axe  in  the  air  and 
a  loud  reverberating  blow  broke  the  immense  soli 
tude.  There  are  many  kinds  of  music;  but  there 
is  none  fuller  of  life  and  power  and  primal  energy 
than  the  ring  of  the  woodsman's  axe  as  blow  after 
blow,  through  hour  after  hour,  falls  rhythmically 


392  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

upon  the  wound  which  he  cuts  in  the  great  bole  of 
a  forest  monarch. 

The  gash  deepened  and  widened,  the  chips  flew 
in  showers  and  the  woodchopper's  craft,  long  un- 
practiced,  came  back  to  him  with  every  stroke.  The 
satisfying  consciousness  of  skill  and  power  rilled 
him  with  a  sort  of  ecstasy.  Just  as  the  sun  reached 
the  zenith  and  looked  down  to  see  what  devasta 
tion  was  being  wrought  in  this  solitude,  the  giant 
trembled;  the  blade  had  struck  a  vital  place;  he 
reeled,  leaned  forward,  lurched,  plunged  headlong, 
and  with  a  roar  that  resounded  through  the  wide 
reaches  of  the  forest,  fell  prone  upon  the  ground. 

The  woodsman  wiped  the  perspiration  from  his 
brow  and  smiled.  The  appetite  of  the  pioneer  had 
been  whetted  with  his  work.  He  kindled  a  fire, 
boiled  a  pot  of  coffee,  fried  a  half  dozen  slices  of 
bacon,  remembered  his  sickly  appetite  in  the  lux 
urious  restaurants  of  great  cities,  and  laughed  aloud 
for  joy — wild,  unbounded  joy — the  joy  of  primitive 
manhood,  of  health,  of  strength,  of  hope.  And 
then  he  stretched  himself  on  the  ground  and 
looked  up  into  the  blue  sky  through  the  opening 
he  had  made  in  the  green  canopy  above  him  and 
through  which  the  sun  was  gazing  with  bold,  free 
glances  on  the  face  of  the  modest  valley  and  whis 
pering  amorously  of  its  love. 

Those  glances  fell  soft  and  warm  on  his  own 
upturned  countenance,  and  the  rays  of  life-giving 
power  penetrated  the  inmost  core  of  his  being,  find 
ing  their  way  by  some  mysterious  alchemy  through 


FASTING  IN  THE  WILDERNESS         393 

the  medium  of  matter  into  the  very  citadel  of  the 
spirit  itself.  They  imparted  a  new  life.  He  basked 
in  them  until  he  fell  asleep,  and  when  he  awakened 
he  felt  anew  the  joy  of  mere  physical  existence;  he 
rose,  shook  himself  like  a  giant,  and  resumed  his 
work. 

He  now  began  to  prepare  for  himself  a  temporary 
booth  which  should  shelter  him  until  he  had  erected 
his  cabin ;  and  the  rest  of  the  day  was  consumed  in 
this  enterprise.  At  its  close  this  simple  task  was 
done,  so  easy  is  it  to  provide  a  shelter  for  him  who 
seeks  protection  and  not  luxury!  Having  once 
more  satisfied  his  hunger,  he  built  a  fire  in  front 
of  his  rude  booth,  and  lay  down  in  its  genial  rays, 
his  head  upon  a  pillow  of  moss.  The  stillness  of 
the  cool,  quiet  evening  was  broken  only  by  the 
crackling  of  the  flames,  the  quiet  murmurs  of  the 
two  little  rills  which  whispered  to  each  other  startled 
interrogations  as  to  the  meaning  of  this  rude  in 
vasion,  the  hoot  of  owls  in  the  tall  tree  tops, 
and  the  stealthy  tread  of  some  of  the  little  creatures 
of  the  forest  who  prowled  around,  while  seeking 
their  prey,  to  discover,  if  possible,  the  meaning  of 
this  great  light,  and  the  strange  noises  with  which 
their  forest  world  had  resounded. 

There  came  to  the  recumbent  woodsman  a  deep 
and  quiet  peace.  He  felt  a  new  sense  of  having 
been  in  some  way  taken  back  into  the  fraternity 
of  the  unfallen  creatures  of  the  universe,  and  into 
the  all-embracing  arms  of  the  great  Father.  He 
fell  asleep  with  pure  thoughts  hovering  over  the 


394  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

surface  of  his  mind,  like  a  flock  of  swallows  above 
a  crystal  lake.    And  Nature  did  take  him  back  into 
'that  all-enfolding  heart  where  there  is  room  and  a 
welcome  for  all  who  dp  not  alienate  themselves. 
I  Her  latchstrings  are  always  out,  and  forests,  fields, 
\  mountains,    oceans,    deserts    even,  have  a  silent, 
:  genial  welcome  for  all  who  enter  their  open  doors 
with  reverence,  sympathy  and  yearning.     A  man 
asleep  alone  in  a  vast  wilderness !     How  easy  it 
would  be  for  Nature  to  forget  him  and  permit  him 
to  sleep  on  forever!     What  gives  him  his  impor 
tance  there  amid  those  giant  trees?     Why  should 
sun,  moon,  stars,  gravity,  heat,  cold,  care  for  him  ? 
How  can  the  hand  that  guides  the  constellations — 
those  vast  navies  of  the  infinite  sea — pause  to  touch 
the  eyelids  of  this  atom  when  the  time  comes  for 
him  to  rise? 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 
A   FOREST  IDYL 

"Stranger,  if  thou  hast  learned  a  truth  which  needs 

No  school  of  long  experience,  that  the  world 

Is  full  of  guilt  and  misery,  and  hast  seen 

Enough  of  all  its  sorrows,  crimes  and  cares 

To  tire  thee  of  it,   enter  this  wild   wood 

And  view  the  haunts  of  Nature.    The  calm  shade 

Shall  bring  a  kindred  calm,   and  the  sweet  breeze 

That  makes  the  green  leaves  dance,  shall  waft  a  balm 

To   thy   sick   heart."  —Bryant. 

When  the  sleeper  woke,  refreshed  and  rest 
ed,  in  the  morning,  it  was  to  take  up  the  routine 
of  duties  which  were  to  be  only  slightly  varied  for 
many  months  to  come. 

One  after  another  the  great  trees  succumbed  to 
the  blows  of  his  axe  and  from  their  prostrate 
forms  he  carefully  selected  those  which  were 
best  adapted  to  the  structure  of  his  cabin,  while 
over  the  others  he  piled  the  limbs  and  brush 
and  left  them  to  dry  for  the  conflagration  which  at 
the  end  of  the  hot  summer  should  remove  them 
from  the  clearing. 

When  the  rainy  days  came  he  spent  his  time  in 
the  shelter  of  his  little  arbor  cutting  the  "shakes," 
or  shingles,  which  were  to  furnish  the  roof  of 
Pepeeta's  home. 

The  days  and  weeks  fled  by  and  the  opening  in 
the  forest  grew  apace.  He  measured  it  by  night 
with  a  celestial  arithmetic,  using  the  stars  for  his 
triangulations,  and  as  one  after  another  of  them 
became  visible  where  before  they  had  been  ob- 

395 


39$  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

scured  by  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  he  smiled,  and 
felt  as  if  he  were  cutting  his  farm  out  of  heaven 
instead  of  earth.  It  was  really  cut  out  of  both! 

His  Sundays  were  spent  at  the  old  homestead 
with  his  loved  ones,  and  once  every  week  Pepeeta 
came  with  Steven  to  bring  him  luxuries  which  her 
own  hands  had  prepared,  and  to  pass  the  afternoon 
with  him  at  his  work  in  the  "clearing." 

Those  were  memorable  hours,  possessing  that 
three-fold  existence  with  which  every  hour  can  be 
endowed  by  the  soul  of  man — anticipation — real 
ization — recollection.  In  this  way  a  single  moment 
sometimes  becomes  almost  synchronous  with  eter 
nity. 

It  would  have  been  impossible  to  tell  which  of  the 
three  was  happiest,  but  Pepeeta  was  always  the  cen 
ter  of  interest,  attention  and  devotion.  Her  whole 
nature  seemed  to  be  aroused  and  called  into  play; 
all  her  countless  charms  were  incessantly  evoked; 
her  inimitable  laughter  resounded  through  the 
woods  and  challenged  the  emulous  birds  to  unsuc 
cessful  competition.  Seriousness  alternated  with 
gaiety,  coquetry  with  gravity.  Some  of  the  time 
she  spent  in  gathering  flowers  to  adorn  her  lover's 
booth,  and  some  in  carrying  to  the  rubbish  pile 
such  limbs  and  branches  as  her  strength  would 
permit  her  to  handle. 

Nothing  could  have  been  more  charming  than 
the  immense  efforts  that  she  put  forth  with  such 
grace,  to  lift  with  all  her  might  some  branch  that 
her  lover  had  tossed  aside  with  a  single  hand !  The 


A  FOREST  IDYL  397 

attitudes  into  which  these  efforts  threw  her  body 
were  as  graceful  as  those  into  which  the  water 
threw  the  cresses  by  its  ceaseless  flow,  or  the  wind 
bent  the  tree  tops  by  its  fitful  gusts. 

Steven  was  frantic  with  delight  at  the  free,  open 
life  of  the  woods.  He  chased  the  squirrels  and 
rabbits,  he  climbed  the  trees  to  gaze  into  the  nests 
of  the  birds,  and  caught  the  butterflies  in  his  hat. 

David  entered  into  all  their  pleasures,  but  with  a 
chastened  and  restrained  delight,  for  he  could 
never  forget  that  he  was  an  exile  and  a  penitent. 

There  were  two  days  in  the  season  when  the  reg 
ular  routine  of  the  woodsman's  work  was  inter 
rupted  by  functions  which  possess  a  romantic 
charm.  One  was  when  the  Friends  and  neighbors 
from  a  wide  region  assembled  to  help  him  "raise" 
the  walls  of  his  cabin. 

From  all  sides  they  appeared,  in  their  picturesque 
costumes  of  homespun  or  fur.  Suddenly,  through 
the  ever-open  gates  of  the  forest,  teams  of  horses 
crashed,  drawing  after  them  clanking  log  chains, 
and  driven  by  men  who  carried  saws  and  "cant 
hooks"  on  their  broad  shoulders.  Loud  halloos 
of  greeting,  cheerful  words  of  encouragement,  an 
eager  and  agreeable  bustle  of  business,  filled  the 
clearing. 

Log  by  log  the  walls  rose,  as  the  horses  rolled 
them  into  place  with  the  aid  of  the  great  chains 
which  the  pioneers  wrapped  around  them.  It  was 
only  a  rude  log  cabin  they  built — with  a  great,  wide 
opening  through  the  middle,  a  room  on  either  side, 


39^  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  a  picturesque  chimney  at  cither  end;  but  it  was 
not  to  be  despised  even  for  grace,  and  when  warmth 
and  comfort  and  adaptability  to  needs  and  oppor 
tunities  are  considered,  there  have  been  few  build 
ings  erected  by  the  genius  of  man  more  justly  en 
titled  to  admiration. 

When  this  single  day's  work  was  ended  there 
remained  nothing  for  David  to  do  but  chink  and 
daub  the  walls  with  mud,  cover  the  rude  rafters  of 
the  roof  with  his  shakes,  build  the  chimneys  out  of 
short  sticks,  cob-house  fashion,  and  cement  them 
on  the  inside  with  clay  to  protect  them  from  the 
flames. 

The  other  day  was  the  one  on  which,  at  the  close 
of  the  long  and  genial  summer,  when  the  mass  of 
timber  and  brushwood  had  been  thoroughly  sea 
soned  by  the  hot  suns,  he  set  his  torches  to  the 
carefully  constructed  piles. 

Steven  and  Pepeeta  were  to  share  with  him  in 
the  excitement  of  this  conflagration,  and  David 
had  postponed  it  until  dusk,  in  order  that  they 
might  enjoy  its  entire  sublimity.  He  had  taken  the 
precaution  to  plow  many  furrows  around  the  cabin 
and  also  around  the  edge  of  the  clearing,  so  the 
flames  could  neither  destroy  his  house  nor  devas 
tate  the  forest. 

Such  precautions  were  necessary,  for  nothing 
can  exceed  the  ferocity  of  fire  in  the  debris  which 
the  woodsmen  scatter  about  them.  When  the 
dusk  had  settled  down  on  this  woodland  world 
and  long  shadows  had  crept  across  the  clearing, 


A  FOREST  IDYL  399 

wrapping  themselves  round  the  trees  at  its  edge 
and  scattering  themselves  among  the  thick  branches 
till  they  were  almost  hid  from  view,  David  lighted 
a  pine  torch  and  gave  it  into  the  hands  of  the  eager 
boy,  who  seized  it  and  like  a  young  Prometheus 
started  forth.  A  single  touch  to  the  dry  tinder  was 
enough.  With  a  dull  explosion,  the  mass  burst 
into  flame.  Shouting  in  his  exultation,  the  little 
torch-bearer  rushed  on,  igniting  pile  after  pile, 
and  leaving  behind  him  almost  at  every  step  a 
mighty  conflagration.  At  each  new  instant,  as  the 
'night  advanced,  a  new  outburst  of  light  illumined 
the  darkness,  until  ten,  twenty,  fifty  great  heaps 
were  roaring  and  seething  with  flames !  Great  jets 
spouted  up  into  the  midnight  heavens  as  if  about 
to  kiss  the  very  stars,  and  suddenly  expired  in  the 
illimitable  space  above  them.  Immense  sparks, 
shot  out  from  these  bonfires  as  from  the  craters 
of  volcanoes,  went  sailing  into  the  void  around 
them  and  fell  hissing  into  the  water  of  the  brooks 
or  silently  into  the  new-plowed  furrows. 

The  clouds  above  the  heads  of  the  subdued  and 
almost  terrified  beholders,  for  no  one  is  ever  alto 
gether  prepared  for  the  absolute  awfulness  of  such 
a  spectacle,  were  glowing  with  the  fierce  light 
which  the  fires  threw  upon  them.  Weird  illumina 
tions  played  fantastic  tricks  in  the  foliage  from 
which  the  startled  shadows  had  vanished.  The  roar 
of  the  ever-increasing  fires  became  louder  and 
louder,  until  in  very  terror  Pepeeta  crept  into 
David's  arms  for  protection,  while  the  child  who 


400  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

had  fearlessly  produced  this  scene  of  awful  grand 
eur  and  destruction  shouted  with  triumph  at  his 
play. 

"Thee's  a  reckless  little  fire-eater!"  said  David, 
watching  his  figure  as  it  appeared  and  disappeared. 
"How  youth  trifles  with  forces  whose  powers  it 
can  neither  measure  nor  control!  It  was  well  that 
I  drew  a  furrow  around  our  cabin  or  it  would  have 
been  burned." 

His  gaze  was  fixed  on  the  little  cabin  which 
seemed  to  dance  and  oscillate  in  the  palpitating 
light;  and  touched  by  the  analogies  and  symbols 
which  his  penetrating  eye  discovered  in  the  simple 
scenes  of  daily  life,  he  continued  to  soliloquize, 
saying,  "I  should  have  drawn  furrows  around  my 
life,  before  I  played  with  fire!" 

"Nay,  David,"  replied  Pepeeta,  "we  should  never 
have  played  with  fire  at  all." 

"How  wise  we  are — too  late!" 

"Shall  we  walk  any  more  cautiously  when  the 
next  untried  pathway  opens?"  he  added,  somewhat 
sadly,  as  he  recalled  the  errors  of  the  past. 

"We  ought  to,  if  experience  has  any  value,"  said 
Pepeeta. 

"But  has  it?  Or  does  it  only  interpret  the  past, 
and  not  point  out  the  future?" 

"Something  of  both,  I  think." 

"Well,  we  must  trust  it." 

"But  not  it  alone.  There  is  something  better 
and  safer." 

"What  is  that,  my  love?" 


A  FOREST  IDYL  4OI 

"The  path-finding  instinct  of  the  soul  itself." 

"Do  you  believe  there  is  such  an  instinct?" 

"As  much  as  I  believe  the  carrier  pigeon  has  it. 
It  is  the  inner  light  of  which  you  told  me.  You 
see,  I  remember  my  lesson  like  an  obedient  child." 

"Why,  then,  are  we  so  often  misled?"  he  asked, 
tempting  her. 

"Because  we  do  not  wholly  trust  it !"  she  said. 

"But  how  can  we  distinguish  the  true  light  from 
the  false,  the  instinct  from  imagination  or  desire? 
If  the  soul  has  a  hundred  compasses  pointing  in 
different  ways,  what  compass  shall  lead  the  bewil 
dered  mariner  to  know  the  true  compass?" 

"He  who  will  know,  can  know." 

"Are  you  speaking  from  your  heart,  Pepeeta?" 

"From  its  depths." 

"And  have  you  no  doubts  that  what  you  say  is 
true?" 

"None,  for  I  learned  it  from  a  teacher  whom  I 
trust,  and  have  justified  it  by  my  own  experience." 

"And  now  the  teacher  must  sit  at  the  feet  of  the 
pupil !  Oh !  beautiful  instructress,  keep  your  faith 
firm  for  my  sake!  I  have  dark  hours  through 
which  I  have  to  pass  and  often  lose  my  way.  The 
restoration  of  my  spiritual  vision  is  but  slow.  How 
often  am  I  bewildered  and  lost!  My  thoughts 
brood  and  brood  within  me !" 

"Put  them  away,"  she  said,  cheerily.  "We  live 
by  faith  and  not  by  sight.  We  need  not  be  con 
cerned  with  the  distant  future.  Let  us  live  in  this 
dear,  divine  moment.  I  am  here.  You  are  here! 


I 


402  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

We  are  together ;  our  hands  touch ;  our  eyes  meet ; 
our  hearts  are  one;  we  love!  Let  us  only  be  true 
to  our  best  selves,  and  to  the  light  that  shines 
within !  Oh !  I  have  learned  so  much  in  these  few 
months,  among  these  people  of  peace,  David !  They 
know  the  way  of  life!  We  need  go  no  farther  to 
seek  it.  It  lies  before  us.  Let  us  follow  it !" 

"Angel  of  goodness,"  he  exclaimed,  clasping  her 
hand,  "it  must  be  that  supreme  Love  reigns  over 
all  the  folly  and  madness  of  life,  or  to  such  a  one 
as  I,  a  gift  so  good  and  beautiful  would  never  have 
been  given !" 

She  pressed  his  hand  for  response,  for  her  lips 
quivered  and  her  heart  was  too  full  for  words. 

And  now,  through  the  ghastly  light  which  mag 
nified  his  size  portentously  and  painted  him  with 
grotesque  and  terrible  colors,  the  child  reappeared, 
begrimed  with  smoke  and  wild  with  the  transports 
of  a  power  so  vast  and  an  accomplishment  so  won 
derful. 

The  three  figures  stood  in  the  bright  illumina 
tion,  fascinated  by  the  spectacle.  The  flames,  as 
if  satisfied  with  destruction,  had  died  down,  and 
fifty  great  beds  of  glowing  embers  lay  spread  out 
before  them,  like  a  sort  of  terrestrial  constellation. 

The  wind,  which  had  been  awakened  and  ex 
cited  to  madness  as  it  rushed  in  from  the  great 
halls  of  the  forest  to  fan  the  fires,  now  tnat  It 
was  no  longer  needed,  ceased  to  blow  and  sank 
mto  silence  and  repose.  Little  birds,  returning  to 
their  roosts,  complained  mournfully  that  their 


A  FOREST  IDYL  403 

dreams  had  been  disturbed,  and  a  great  owl  from 
the  top  of  a  lofty  elm  hooted  his  rage. 

It  was  Saturday  night.  The  labors  of  the  week 
were  over.  The  time  had  come  for  them  to  return  to 
the  farm  house.  They  turned  away  reluctantly, 
leaving  nature  to  finish  the  work  they  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  SUPREME  TEST 

•'Not  in  the  clamor  of  the  crowded  street, 
Not  In  the  shouts  and  plaudits  of  the  throng, 
But  in  ourselves,  are  triumph  and  defeat." 

—Longfellow. 

The  emotions  of  the  woodsman's  heart  had  been 
in  the  main  cheerful  and  full  of  hope  during  the 
springtime  and  the  summer ;  but  when  the  autumn 
came,  with  its  wailing  winds,  its  dying  vegetation, 
and  falling  leaves,  new  moods  were  superinduced 
in  his  sensitive  soul. 

It  is  impossible  even  for  the  good  and  innocent 
to  behold  this  universal  dissolution  and  decay  with 
out  remembering  that  they  themselves  must  pass 
through  some  such  temporary  experience.  But 
upon  those  who  carry  guilty  secrets  in  their 
hearts  these  impressions  descend  with  crushing 
weight.  David  felt  them  to  the  full  when  at  last 
the  winter  set  in;  when  the  days  were  shortened 
and  he  was  compelled  to  forego  his  toil  at  an  early 
hour  and  retire  to  his  cabin!  There  he  was  con 
fronted  by  all  the  problems  and  temptations  of  a 
soul  battling  with  the  animal  nature  and  striving 
to  emancipate  the  spirit  from  its  thraldom. 

At  the  close  of  one  cold,  blustering  day,  when 
his  evening  meal  had  been  eaten  in  solitude,  he  sat 
down  before  the  great  fire  which  roared  in  the 
chimney.  He  read  awhile,  but  grew  tired  of  his 


THE  SUPREME  TEST  405 

book  and  threw  it  down.  The  melancholy  which 
he  had  suppressed  so  long  rose  at  last,  and  there 
burst  on  him  the  apparent  uselessness  of  the 
task  he  had  gratuitously  assigned  himself.  Why 
had  he  ever  done  it?  Why  should  he  be  sitting 
there  alone  in  his  cabin  when  by  his  side  there 
might  be  that  radiant  woman  whose  presence 
would  dispel  instantly  and  forever  the  lone 
liness  which  ceaselessly  gnawed  at  his  heart? 
What,  after  all,  was  to  be  gained  by  this  self-sacri 
fice?  Life  is  very  short,  and  there  are  few  pleas 
ures  to  be  had,  at  best.  Why  should  he  not  seize 
them  as  fast  as  they  came  within  his  reach?  Had 
he  not  suffered  enough  already?  Who  had  ever 
suffered  more  ?  It  was  only  an  unnecessary  cruelty 
that  had  even  suggested  such  agony  as  he  was  now 
experiencing.  He  was  being  cheated  out  of  legiti 
mate  pleasures,  and  that  by  the  advice  of  an  old 
ascetic  whose  own  capacity  for  enjoyment  had  been 
dried  up,  and  who  was  envious  of  the  happiness  of 
others  !  As  these  thoughts  rushed  through  his  soul, 
he  could  not  but  perceive  that  he  had  been  forced 
once  more  to  enter  the  arena  and  to  fight  over  the 
old  battle  which  he  had  lost  in  the  lumberman's 
cabin  three  years  before !  And  he  found  to  his  dis 
may  how  much  harder  it  was  to  fight  these  foes  of 
virtue  when  they  come  to  us  not  as  vague  imagina 
tions  of  experiences  which  we  have  never  tried,  but 
as  vivid  memories  of  real  events.  Then  he  had 
only  dreamed  of  the  sweet  fruits  of  the  knowledge 
of  good  and  evil :  but  now  the  taste  was  in  his 


406  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

mouth,  to  whet  his  appetite  and  increase  his  hun 
ger.  The  slumbering  selfhood  of  his  soul  woke 
and  clamored  for  its  rights. 

It  was  Chateaubriand  who  affirmed  that  the 
human  heart  is  like  one  of  those  southern  pools 
which  are  quiet  and  beautiful  on  the  surface,  but 
in  the  bottom  of  which  there  lies  an  alligator! 
However  calm  the  surface  of  the  exile's  soul  ap 
peared,  there  was  a  monster  in  its  depth,  and  now 
it  rose  upon  him.  In  his  struggles  with  it  he  paced 
the  floor,  sank  despairingly  into  his  chair,  and  fell 
on  his  knees  by  turns.  Animal  desires  and  brute 
instincts  grappled  with  intellectual  convictions  and 
spiritual  aspirations ;  flesh  and  blood  with  mind 
and  spirit;  skepticism  with  trust;  despair  with 
hope. 

The  old  forest  had  been  the  theater  of  many  com 
bats.  In  earth,  air  and  water,  birds,  animals  and 
fishes  had  struggled  with  each  other  for  supremacy 
and  existence.  Beasts  had  fought  with  Indians 
and  Indians  with  white  men ;  but  no  battle  had  been 
more  significant  or  tragic  than  the  one  which  was 
taking  place  in  the  quiet  cabin.  There  was  no 
noise  and  no  bloodshed,  but  it  was  a  struggle  to  the 
death.  It  was  no  new  strife,  but  one  which  has 
repeated  itself  in  human  hearts  since  they  be 
gan  to  beat.  It  cannot  be  avoided  by  plunging 
into  the  crowds  of  great  cities,  nor  by  fleeing  to 
the  solitudes  of  forests,  for  we  carry  our  battle 
ground  with  us.  The  inveterate  foes  encamp  upon 
the  fields,  and  when  they  are  not  fighting  they  are 


THE  SUPREME  TEST  407 

recuperating  their  strength  for  struggles  still  to 
come. 

But  although  neither  combatant  in  this  warfare 
is  ever  wholly  annihilated,  there  is  in  every  life  a 
Waterloo.  There  comes  a  struggle  in  which,  if 
we  are  not  victorious,  we  at  least  remain  perma 
nent  master  of  the  field.  This  was  the  night  of 
David's  Waterloo.  A  true  history  of  that  final 
conflict  in  the  soul  of  this  hermit  would  not  have 
disgraced  the  confessions  of  Saint  Augustine! 

He  wrestled  to  keep  his  thoughts  pure  and  his 
faith  firm,  until  the  sweat  stood  in  beads  on  his 
forehead.  He  felt  that  to  yield  so  much  as  the 
fraction  of  an  inch  of  ground  in  his  battle  against 
doubt  and  sin  this  night  was  to  be  lost!  And  still 
the  conflict  went  against  him. 

It  turned  upon  another  of  those  trivial  incidents 
of  which  there  had  been  a  series  in  his  life.  His 
attention  was  arrested  by  a  sound  in  the  woods 
which  summoned  his  consciousness  from  the  inner 
world  of  thought  and  feeling  to  the  great  external 
world  of  action  and  endeavor.  His  huntsman's  ear 
detected  its  significance  at  once,  and  springing  to 
the  corner  of  the  room  he  seized  his  rifle,  threw 
open  the  cabin  door  and  stood  on  the  threshold. 
A  full  moon  shone  on  the  snow  and  in  that  white 
and  ghostly  light  his  quick  eye  caught  sight  of  a 
spectacle  that  made  his  pulses  leap.  A  fawn  bounded 
out  into  the  open  field  and  headed  for  his  cabin, 
attracted  by  the  firelight  gleaming  through  the 
window  and  door.  Behind  her  and  snapping  almost 


408  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

at  her  heels,  came  a  howling  pack  of  a  half  dozen 
evolves  whose  red,  lolling  tongues,  white  fangs  and 
flaming  eyes  were  distinctly  visible  from  where  he 
stood.  Coolly  raising  his  rifle  he  aimed  at  the 
leader  and  pulled  the  trigger.  There  was  a  quick 
flash,  a  sharp  report,  and  the  wolf  leaped  high  in 
the  air,  plunged  headlong,  tumbled  into  the  snow 
and  lay  writhing  in  the  pangs  of  death. 

There  was  no  time  to  load  again,  and  there  was 
no  need,  for  the  terrified  fawn,  impelled  by  the 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  chose  the  lesser  of  two 
dangers  and  with  a  few  wild  bounds  toward  the 
cabin,  flung  herself  through  the  wide-open  door. 

David  had  detected  her  purpose  and  stepped 
aside;  and  instantly  she  had  entered  closed  and 
bolted  the  door  upon  the  very  muzzles  of  her  pur 
suers.  They  dashed  themselves  against  it  and 
whined  with  baffled  rage,  while  the  half-frantic  deer 
crawled  trembling  to  the  side  of  her  preserver, 
licked  his  hands  and  lay  at  his  feet  gasping  lor 
breath. 

To  some  men  an  incident  like  this  would  have 
been  an  incident  and  nothing  more ;  but  souls  like 
Corson's  perceive  in  every  event  and  experience 
of  life,  elements  which  lie  beneath  the  surface. 

Not  only  was  he  saved  from  the  spiritual  defeat 
of  which  he  was  on  the  verge,  by  being  summoned 
instantly  from  the  subjective  into  the  objective 
world ;  but  the  rescue  of  the  deer  became  a  beauti 
ful  and  holy  symbol  of  life  itself,  and  so  revealed 
and  illustrated  life's  main  end  "the  help  of  the  help- 


THE  SUPREME  TEST  409 

less," — that  he  was  at  once  elevated  from  a  region 
of  struggle  and  despair  into  one  of  triumph  and 
hope.  He  remained  in  it  until  he  fell  asleep.  He 
awoke  in  it  on  the  morrow.  From  that  high 
plane  he  did  not  again  descend  so  low  as  he  had 
been.  The  courage  that  had  been  kindled  and 
the  purposes  which  had  been  crystallized  by  the 
joy  of  this  rescue  and  the  gratitude  of  the  deer  re 
mained  permanently  in  his  heart.  He  lived  in 
dreams  of  other  acts  like  this,  in  which  the  objects 
saved  by  his  strength  were  not  the  beasts  of  the 
field,  but  the  hunted  and  despairing  children  of  a 
heavenly  Father. 

The  fawn  became  to  him  a  continual  reminder 
of  this  spiritual  struggle  and  victory,  for  he  kept 
it  in  his  cabin,  made  it  a  companion,  trained  it  to 
follow  him  about  his  work,  and  finally  presented  it 
to  Pepeeta. 

There  were  many  beautiful  things  to  be  seen  in 
the  winter  woods ;  snow  hanging  in  plumes  from 
the  trees,  the  smoke  of  the  cabin  curling  into  the 
still  air,  rabbits  browsing  on  the  low  bushes,  the 
woodsman  standing  in  triumph  over  a  fallen  tree; 
but  when,  on  the  days  of  her  visits  to  the  exile, 
Pepeeta  entered  the  clearing  and  the  deer,  perceiv 
ing  her  approach,  ran  to  greet  her  in  flying  leaps, 
bounded  around  her,  looked  up  into  her  face  with 
its  gentle  eyes,  ate  the  food  she  offered  and  licked 
the  hand  of  its  mistress — David  thought  that  there 
was  nothing  more  beautiful  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

PARADISE  REGAINED 

"The  loves  that  meet  in  Paradise  shall  cast  out  fear, 
And  Paradise  hath  room  for  you  and  me  and  all." 

—Christina  Rossetti. 

At  last — the  springtime  came ! 

The  potent  energy  of  the  sun  opened  all  the 
myriad  veins  of  the  great  trees,  wakened  the  hiber 
nating  creatures  of  the  dens  and  burrows  from  their 
protracted  sleep,  caused  the  seeds  to  swell  and 
burst  in  the  bosom  of  earth,  and  sent  the  blood 
coursing  through  David's  veins,  quickening  all  his 
intellectual  and  spiritual  powers. 

And  then,  the  end  of  his  exile  was  near!  In  a 
few  weeks  he  would  have  vindicated  the  purity  of 
his  purpose  to  attain  the  divine  life,  and  have 
proved  himself  worthy  to  claim  the  hand  of  Pe- 
peeta ! 

All  the  winter  long  he  had  plied  his  axe.  Once 
more,  now  that  the  snow  had  vanished,  he  set  fire 
to  the  debris  which  he  had  strewn  around  him,  and 
saw  with  an  indescribable  feeling  of  triumph  and 
delight  the  open  soil  made  ready  for  his  plow. 
He  yoked  a  team  of  patient  oxen  to  it  and  set 
the  sharp  point  deep  into  the  black  soil.  Never 
had  the  earth  smelled  so  sweet  as  now  when  the 
broad  share  threw  it  back  in  a  continuously  ad 
vancing  wave.  Never  had  that  yeoman's  joy  of 

410 


PARADISE  REGAINED 


hearing  the  ripping  of  roots  and  the  grating  of  iron 
against  stones  as  the  great  oxen  settled  to  their 
work,  strained  in  their  yokes  and  dragged  the  plow 
point  through  the  bosom  of  the  earth,  been  half  so 
genuine  and  deep.  It  was  good  to  be  alive,  to 
sleep,  to  eat,  to  toil  !  Cities  had  lost  their  charm. 
David's  sin  was  no  longer  a  withering  and  blasting,  \ 
but  a  chastening  and  restraining  memory.  His/ 
clearing  was  a  kingdom,  his  cabin  a  palace,  and  he 
was  soon  to  have  a  queen!  He  had  reserved  his 
sowing  for  the  last  day  of  his  self-imposed  seclusion, 
which  ended  with  the  month  of  May. 

On  the  day  following,  having  accomplished 
his  vow,  he  would  go  to  the  house  of  God  and  claim 
his  bride  !  This  day  he  would  devote  to  that  solemn 
function  of  scattering  the  sacred  seed  of  life's  chief 
support  into  the  open  furrow  ! 

No  wonder  a  feeling  of  devotion  and  awe  came 
upon  him  as  he  prepared  himself  for  his  task;  for 
perhaps  there  is  not  a  single  act  in  the  whole 
economy  of  life  better  calculated  to  stir  a  thought 
ful  mind  to  its  profoundest  depths  than  the  sow 
ing  of  those  golden  grains  which  have  within 
them  the  promise  and  potency  of  life.  Year 
after  year,  century  after  century,  millions  of  men 
have  gone  forth  in  the  light  of  the  all-beholding 
and  life-giving  sun  to  cast  into  the  bosom  of  the 
earth  the  sustenance  of  their  children!  It  is  a 
sublime  act  of  faith,  and  this  sacrifice  of  a  present 
for  a  future  good,  an  actual  for  a  potential  bless 
ing,  is  no  less  beautiful  and  holy  because  familiar 


412  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

and  old.  The  Divine  Master  himself  could  not  con 
template  it  without  emotion  and  was  inspired  by 
it  to  the  utterance  of  one  of  his  grandest  parables. 

And  then  the  field  itself  inspired  solemn  reflec 
tions  and  noble  pride  in  the  mind  of  the  sower. 
It  was  his  own !  He  had  carved  it  out  of  a  wilder 
ness  !  Here  was  soil  which  had  never  been  opened 
to  the  daylight.  Here  was  ground  which  perhaps 
for  a  thousand,  and  not  unlikely  for  ten 
thousand  years,  should  bring  forth  seed  to  the 
sower;  and  he  had  cleared  it  with  his  own  hands! 
Generations  and  centuries  after  he  should  have  died 
and  been  forgotten,  men  would  go  forth  into  this 
field  as  he  was  doing  to-day,  to  sow  their  seed  and 
reap  their  harvests. 

He  slung  his  bag  of  grain  over  his  shoulder  and 
stepped  forth  from  his  cabin  at  the  dawn  of  day. 
The  clearing  he  had  made  was  an  almost  perfect 
circle.  All  around  it  were  the  green  walls  of  the 
forest  with  the  great  trunks  of  the  beeches,  white 
and  symmetrical,  standing  like  vast  Corinthian  col 
umns  supporting  a  green  frieze  upon  which  rested 
the  lofty  roof  of  the  immense  cathedral.  From  the 
organ-loft  the  music  of  the  morning  breeze  re 
sounded,  and  from  the  choirs  the  sweet  antiphonals 
of  birds.  Odors  of  pine,  of  balsam,  of  violets,  of 
peppermint,  of  fresh-plowed  earth,  of  bursting  life, 
were  wafted  across  the  vast  nave  from  transept  to 
transept,  and  floated  like  incense  up  to  heaven. 

The  priest,  about  to  offer  his  sacrifice,  the  sacri 
fice  of  a  broken  heart  and  contrite  spirit,  about 


PARADISE  REGAINED  4*3 

to  confess  his  faith;  in  the  beautiful  and  symbolic 
act  of  sacrificing  the  present  for  the  future,  stepped 
forth  into  the  open  furrow. 

His  open  countenance,  bronzed  with  the  sun, 
was  lighted  with  love  and  adoration;  his  lips 
smiled;  his  eyes  glowed;  he  lifted  them  to  the 
heavens  in  an  unspoken  prayer  for  the  benediction 
of  the  great  life-giver;  he  drew  into  his  nostrils 
the  sweet  odors,  into  his  lungs  the  pure  air,  into  his 
soul  the  beauty  and  glory  of  the  world,  and  then, 
filling  his  hand  with  the  golden  grain,  he  flung  it 
into  the  bosom  of  the  waiting  earth. 

All  day  long  he  strode  across  the  clearing  and 
with  rhythmical  swinging  of  his  brawny  arm  lav 
ishly  scattered  the  golden  grain. 

As  the  sun  went  down  and  the  sower  neared  the 
conclusion  of  his  labor,  his  emotions  became  deeper 
and  yet  more  deep.  He  entered  more  and  more 
fully  into  the  true  spirit  and  significance  of  his  act. 
He  felt  that  it  was  a  sacrament.  Thoughts  of 
the  operation  of  the  mighty  energies  which  he 
was  evoking;  of  the  Divine  spirit  who  brooded 
over  all ;  of  the  coming  into  this  wilderness  of  the 
woman  who  was  to  be  the  good  angel  of  his 
life ;  of  the  ceremony  that  was  to  be  enacted  in  the 
little  meeting  house ;  of  the  work  to  which  he  was 
dedicated  in  the  future,  kindled  his  soul  into  an 
ecstasy  of  joy.  He  ceased  to  be  conscious  of  his 
present  task.  The  material  world  loosened  its  hold 
upon  his  senses.  His  thoughts  became  riveted 
upon  the  elements  of  that  spiritual  universe  that  lay 


THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 


within  and  around  him,  and  that  seemed  uncovered 
to  his  view  as  to  the  apostle  of  old.  "Whether  he 
was  in  the  body,  or  out  of  the  body,  he  could  not 
tell!"  Finally  he  ceased  to  move;  his  hand  was 
arrested  and  hung  poised  in  mid-air  with  the  un- 
scattered  seed  in  its  palm;  he  eyes  were  fixed  on 
some  invisible  object  and  he  stood  as  he  had  stood 
when  we  first  caught  sight  of  him  in  the  half-plowed 
meadow  —  lost  in  a  trance. 

How  long  he  stood  he  never  knew,  but  he  was 
wakened,  at  last,  as  it  was  natural  and  fitting  he 
should  be. 

Fulfilling  her  agreement  to  come  and  bring  him 

home  on  the  eve  of  their  wedding  day,  Pepeeta 

emerged  like  a  beautiful  apparition  from  an  open 

ing  in  the  green  wall  of  the  great  cathedral.    She 

saw  David  standing  immovable  in  the  furrow.    For 

a  few  moments  she  was  absorbed  in  admiration  of 

the  grace  and  beauty  of  the  noble  and  commanding 

^figure,  and  then  she  was  thrilled  with  the  conscious- 

|ness  that  she  possessed  the  pricele^M:reasure  of  Jiis 

slove.    But  these  emotions  were  followed  by  a  holy 

*awtras  she  discovered  that  the  soul  of  her  lover  was 

filled  with  religious  ecstasy.    She  felt  that  the  place 

whereon  she  stood  was  holy  ground,  and  reverently 

awaited  the  emergence  of  the  worshiper  from  the 

holy  of  holies  into  which  he  had  withdrawn  for 

prayer. 

But  the  rapture  lasted  long  and  it  was  growing 
late.  The  shadows  from  the  summits  of  the  hills 
had  already  crept  across  the  clearing  and  were 


PARADISE  REGAINED  4*5 

silently  ascending  the  trunks  of  the  trees  on  the 
eastern  side.  It  was  time  for  them  to  go.  She  took 
a  step  toward  him,  and  then  another,  moving  slow 
ly,  reverently,  and  touched  him  on  the  arm.  He 
started.  The  half-closed  hand  relaxed  and  the  seed 
fell  to  the  ground,  the  dreamer  woke  and  de 
scended  from  the  heaven  of  the  spiritual  world  into 
that  of  the  earthly,  the  heart  of  a  pure  and  noble 
woman. 

"I  have  come,"  she  said  simply. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

"Thee  is  not  through  yet?" 

"So  it  seems !    I  must  have  lost  myself." 

"I  think  thee  rather  found  thyself." 

"Perhaps  I  did ;  but  I  must  finish  my  labor.  It 
will  never  do  for  me  to  let  my  visions  supplant  my 
tasks.  They  will  be  hurtful,  save  as  incentives  to 
toil.  I  must  be  careful !" 

"Let  me  help  thee.  There  are  only  a  few  more 
furrows.  I  am  sure  that  I  can  sow,"  she  said,  ex 
tending  her  hand. 

He  placed  some  of  the  seed  in  her  apron  and  she 
trudged  by  his  side,  laughing  at  her  awkwardness 
but  laboring  with  all  her  might.  Her  lover  took  her 
hand  in  his  and  showed  her  how  to  cast  the  seed, 
and  so  they  labored  together  until  every  open  fur 
row  was  filled.  It  was  dark  when  they  were  done. 
They  lingered  a  little  while  to  put  the  cabin  in 
order,  and  then  turned  their  faces  towards  the  old 
farmhouse. 

The  two  little  brooks  were  singing  their  evening 


416  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

song  as  they  mingled  their  waters  together  in  front 
of  that  wilderness  home.  The  lovers  stood  a  mo 
ment  at  their  point  of  junction,  as  Pepeeta  said, 
"It  is  a  symbol  of  our  lives."  They  listened  to  the 
low  murmur,  watched  the  crystal  stream  as  it 
sparkled  in  the  moonlight,  stole  away  into 
the  distance,  chanting  its  own  melodious  lay 
of  love.  It  led  them  out  of  the  clearing  and 
into  the  depths  of  the  forest.  They  moved  like 
spirits  passing  through  a  land  of  dreams.  The  pal 
pable  world  seemed  stripped  of  its  reality.  The 
creatures  that  stole  across  their  path  or  started 
up  as  they  passed,  the  crickets  that  chirped  their 
little  idyls  at  the  roots  of  the  great  trees,  the  fire 
flies  that  kindled  their  evanescent  fires  among 
the  bushes,  the  night  owls  that  hooted  solemnly 
in  the  tree  tops,  the  rustle  of  the  leaves  in  the  even 
ing  breeze,  the  gurgle  of  the  waters  over  the  stones 
in  the  bed  of  the  brook,  their  own  muffled  footfalls, 
the  patches  of  moonlight  that  lay  like  silver  mats 
on  the  brown  carpet  of  the  woods,  the  flickering 
shadows,  the  ghostly  trunks  of  the  trees,  the  slowly 
swaying,  plume-like  branches,  sounded  only  like 
faint  echoes  or  gleamed  only  like  soft  reflections  of 
a  fairy  world! 

"It  was  here,"  Pepeeta  said,  pausing  at  the  roots 
of  a  great  beech  tree,  "that  I  came  the  day  after 
we  had  first  seen  each  other,  to  inquire  of  the  gypsy 
goddess  the  secrets  of  the  future.  I  have  learned 
many  lessons  since !" 

"It  was  here,"  said  David,  as  they  emerged  from 


PARADISE  REGAINED  417 

the  forest  into  the  larger  valley,  "that  thee  stood,  a 
little  way  from  the  doctor's  side,  stroking  the  necks 
of  his  horses  and  peeping  at  us  stealthily  from  un 
der  thy  long  dark  lashes  on  the  day  when  he  tried 
to  persuade  me  to  join  him  in  his  roving  life." 

"It  was  here,"  Pepeeta  said,  as  they  approached 
the  little  bridge,  "that  we  met  each  other  and 
yielded  our  hearts  to  love." 

"And  met  again  after  our  tragedy  and  our  suf 
fering,  to  find  that  love  is  eternal,"  David  added. 

They  stood  for  a  few  moments  in  silence,  recall 
ing  that  bitter  past,  and  then  the  man  of  many  sins 
and  sorrows  said,  "Give  me  thy  hand,  Pepeeta. 
How  small  it  seems  in  mine.  Let  me  fold  thee  in 
my  arms;  it  makes  my  heart  bound  to  feel  thee 
there !  We  have  walked  over  rough  roads  together,  j 
and  the  path  before  us  may  not  be  always  smooth. 
We  have  tasted  the  bitter  cup  between  us,  and  there 
may  still  be  dregs  at  the  bottom.  It  is  hard  to 
believe  that  after  all  the  wrong  we  have  done  we 
can  still  be  happy.  God  is  surely  good!  It  seems 
to  me  that  we  must  have  our  feet  on  the  right  path. 
He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  continued: 

"I  have  brought  thee  many  sorrows,  sweetheart." 

"And  many  joys." 

"I  mean  to  bring  thee  some  in  the  future! 
The  love  I  bear  thee  now  is  different  from 
that  of  the  past.  I  cannot  wait  until  to-morrow 
to  pledge  thee  my  troth!  Listen!" 

She  did  so,  gazing  up  into  his  face  with  dark  eyes 
in  which  the  light  of  the  moon  was  reflected  as  in 


4*8  THE  REDEMPTION  OF  DAVID  CORSON 

mountain  lakes.  There  was  something  in  them 
which  filled  his  heart  with  unutterable  emotion,  and 
his  words  hung  quivering  upon  his  lips. 

"Speak,  my  love,  for  I  am  listening/'  she  said. 

"I  cannot/'  he  replied. 


A    LIST    OF    RECENT    FICTION    OF 
THE    BOWEN-MERRILL    COMPANY 


ONE  QUARTER  MILLION  COPIES 


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love-story 

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sister  of 

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A     VIVACIOUS    ROMANCE    OF  REVOLU 
TIONARY   DAYS. 


ALICE    OF 
OLD     VINCENNES 

By  MAURICE  THOMPSON 


Mr.  Thompson,  whose  delightful  writings  in  prose  and  verse 
have  made  his  reputation  national  has  achieved  his  master 
stroke  of  genius  in  this  historical  novel  of  revolutionary  days 
in  Indiana. —  The  Atlanta  Constitution. 

There  are  three  great  chapters  of  fiction:  Scott's  tournament 
on  Ashby  field,  General  Wallace's  chariot  race,  and  now  Maurice 
Thompson's  duel  scene  and  the  raising  of  Alice's  flag  over  old 
Fort  Vincennes. — Denver  Daily  News. 

More  original  than  "  Richard  Carvel,"  more  cohesive  than 
"To  Have  and  to  Hold,"  more  vital  than  "Janice  Meredith," 
such  is  Maurice  Thompson's  superb  American  romance,  "Alice 
of  Old  Vincennes."  It  is  in  addition,  more  artistic  and  spon 
taneous  than  any  of  its  rivals. — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

12  mo.  with  five  illustrations  and  a  frontispiece  in  color, 
drawn  by   F.    C.   Yohn, 

Price  $1.50 

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SWEEPERS  of  the  SEA 

The  Story  of  a  Strange  Navy 


By   CLAUDE    H.  WETMORE 


[From  the  St.  Louis  Mirror.] 

The  recital  of  the  deeds  of  the  "Sweepers  of  the  Sea'*  is  a  breath 
less  one. 

The  romance  is  heightened  by  the  realism  of  the  technique  of  naval 
warfare,  by  the  sureness  and  voluminosity  of  nautical  knowledge. 
Imaginary  sea  fights  are  told  with  all  the  particularity  of  real  events, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  descriptions  have  a  breezy  swing  that 
hurries  the  reader  along  to  most  startling  catastrophes. 
Much  of  the  material  is  evidently  worked  over  from  actual  fact  into 
the  texture  of  romance. 

The  romance  is  evidently  modern  in  action,  but  the  motives  are 
the  grand  and  noble  motives  of  a  mysterious  and  splendid  antiquity. 
The  decendants  of  the  Incas,  moved  by  the  Inca  traditions,  are  not 
at  all  out  of  harmony  with  modern  war-ships,  or  with  a  very 
modern  war-correspondent,  who  is  touched  up  a  little  to  heroic 
proportions. 

The   book  is  pleasurable  all  the  way    through,  and  some  of  the 
descriptive  passages  are  specimens  of  first-class  writing. 
The  work  bears  every  evidence  of  having  been  carefully  done,  and 
yet  the  story  reels  off  as  naturally  and  easily  as  if  it  were  a  running 
record  of  fact. 

That  the  general  public  will  take  to  the  book  is  a  sare  conclusion. 
It  is  just  different  enough  from  the  ordinary,  romantic  novel  to  be 
tssentially  new. 

Illustrated  Price,  $1.50 

The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  AMERICAN  CRUCIFIXION. 


THE    PENITENTES 

By  LOUIS  HOW, 


To  describe  the  customs  of  this  band  of  intensely  religious 
people  without  laying  on  the  color  too  thickly  and  without  melo 
dramatic  exaggeration,  to  retain  all  the  color  and  picturesqueness 
of  the  original  scene  without  excess,  was  the  difficult  task  which 
Mr.  How  had  to  accomplish,  and  it  is  one  which  he  has  done  well. 
— Chicago  Record. 

"  The  Penitentes  "  abounds  in  dramatic  possibilities.  It  is  full 
of  action,  warm  color,  and  variety.  The  denouement  at  the  little 
church  of  San  Rafael,  when  the  soldiers  surprise  the  Penitentes  at 
mass  in  the  early  dawn  of  their  fete  day,  appeals  strongly  to  the 
dramatizer. — Chicago  Tribune. 

Mr.  How  has  done  a  truly  remarkable  piece  of  work  *  *  * 
any  hand,  however  practiced,  might  well  be  proud  of  the  marvel- 
ously  good  descriptions,  the  dramatic,  highly  unusual  story,  the 
able  characterizations.  If  "The  Penitentes"  does  not  make  its 
author  notable  it  will  not  be  for  lack  of  every  "promising"  con 
dition. —  The  Interior. 


12  mo.  Cloth,  ornamental     Price  $1.50 
The  Bow  en- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A   STORY  OF  THE  MORGAN  RAID,    DURING 
THE  WAR  OF  THE  REBELLION. 


THE  LEGIONARIES 

By  HENRY  SCOTT  CLARK. 


"  The  Legionaries "  is  pervaded  with  what  seems  to  be  the 
true  spirit  of  artistic  impartiality.  The  hero,  to  be  sure,  is  a  seces 
sionist,  but  the  author,  at  least  in  this  book,  is  simply  a  narrator. 
He  stands  aside,  regarding  with  equal  eye  all  the  issues  involved 
and  the  scales  dip  not  in  his  hands.  To  sum  up,  the  first  romance 
of  the  new  day  on  the  Ohio  is  an  eminently  readable  one — a  good 
yarn  well  spun.— Cincinnati  Commercial  Tribune. 

The  appearance  of  a  new  novel  in  the  west  marks  an  epoch  in 
fiction  relating  to  the  war  between  the  sections  for  the  preservation 
of  the  Union.  "The  Legionaries,"  by  an  anonymous  writer,  said 
to  be  a  prominent  lawyer  of  the  Hoosier  state,  concerns  the  raid 
made  by  the  intrepid  iMorg-an  through  the  southeastern  corner  of 
Indiana,  through  lower  Ohio  and  to  the  borders  of  West  Virginia, 
where  his  depleted  command  ran  into  a  trap  set  by  the  federal 
authorities.  It  is  a  remarkable  book,  and  we  can  scarcely  credit 
the  assurance  that  it  is  the  work  of  a,  new  writer. — Rochester  Herald. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Kentucky  and  Indiana,  and  the  backbone 
of  the  story  is  Morgan's  great  raid — one  of  the  most  romantic  and 
reckless  pieces  of  adventure  ever  attempted  in  the  history  of  the 
world.  Mr.  Clark's  description  of  the  "Ride  of  the  Three  Thousand" 
is  a  piece  of  literature  that  deserves  to  live;  and  is  as  fine  in  its  way 
as  the  chariot  race  from  "Ben  Hur." — Memphis  Commercial  Appeal. 

12  mo.  Illustrated  Price  $1.50 

The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


ANOTHER  SUCCESSFUL  HISTORICAL  NOVEL. 


The  Black  Wolf's  Breed 

BY  HARRIS   DICKSON, 


A  vlgorcns  tale  of  France  In  the  old  ana  new  world  during 
the  reign  of  Louis  XIV. — Boston  Globe, 

As  delightfully  seductive  as  certain  mint-flavored  beverages 
they  make  down  South. — Philadelphia  Press. 

The  sword-play  is  great,  even  finer  than  the  pictures  in  "  Two 
Have  and  To  Hold.",— Los  Angeles  Herald. 

As  fine  a  piece  of  sustained  adventure  as  has  appeared  in 
recent  fiction. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

There  is  action,  vivid  description  and  intensely  dramatic 
situations. — St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

So  full  of  tender  love-making,  of  gallant  fighting  that  one 
regrets  it's  no  longer. — Indianapolis  News. 

12  mo.,  Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea, 
Price  $1,50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  FINE  STORY  of  the  COWBOY  AT  HIS  BEST. 


WITH  HOOPS  OF  STEEL 

By  FLORENCE  FINCH  KELLY. 


"  The  friends  thou  hast,  and  their  adoption  tried,  grapple 
them   to  thy  soul    With   Hoops  of  Steel." 

"  With  Hoops  of  Steel,"  is  issued  in  handsome  style,  with 
several  striking  pictures  in  colors  by  Dan  Smith,  by  The  Bowen- 
Mernll  Company  of  Indianapolis,  a  Western  publishing  house 
that  has  a  long  record  of  recent  successes  in  fiction.  This  firm 
seems  to  tell  by  instinct  what  the  public  wants  to  read,  and  in 
Mrs.  Kelly's  case  it  is  safe  to  say  that  no  mistake  has  been  made. 
Western  men  and  women  will  read  because  it  paints  faiihf  ully  the 
life  which  they  know  so  well,  and  because  it  gives  us  three  big, 
manly  fellows,  fine  types  of  the  cowboy  at  his  best.  Eastern  readers 
will  be  attracted  by  its  splendid  realism. — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

Mrs.  Kelly's  character  stands  out  from  the  background  of  the 
New  Mexican  plains,  desert  and  mountain  with  all  the  distinct 
ness  of  a  Remington  sketch  or  of  the  striking  colored  illustrations 
drawn  for  the  book  by  Dan  Smith.  It  is  not  alone  in  the 
superb  local  coloring  or  the  vivid  character  work  that  "  With 
Hoops  of  Steel  "  is  a  notable  book.  The  incidents  are  admirably 
described  and  full  of  interest,  and  the  movement  of  the  story 
is  continuous  and  vigorous.  The  action  is  spirited  and  the 
climaxes  dramatic.  The  plot  is  cleverly  devised  and  carefully 
unfolded.  After  finishing  the  book  one  feels  that  he  has 
just  seen  the  country,  has  mingled  with  the  characters  and 
has  been  a  witness  of  the  incidents  described. — Denver  Times. 

12  mo.  with  six  illustrations,  in  color,  by  Dan  Smith 
Price,  $1.50 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


A  NOVEL   OF  EARLY  NEW  YORK. 


PATROON    VAN   VOLKENBERG 

BY  HENRY  THEW  STEPHENSON. 


The  action  of  the  story  begins  when 
New  York  was  a  little  city  of  less  than 
5,000  inhabitants.  The  conflict  between 
the  law-abiding  citizens,  led  by  the 
Governor,  Earl  Bellamont,  and  the  mer 
chants,  headed  by  Patroon  Van  Volken- 
berg,  is  at  its  height. 

The  Governor  has  forbidden  the  port 
to  the  free  traders  or  pirate  ships,  which 
infested  the  Atlantic  and  sailed  boldly 
under  their  own  flag;  while  the  Patroon 
and  his  merchant  colleagues  not  only 
traded  openly  with  the  buccaneers,  but 
owned  and  managed  such  illicit  craft. 

The  atmosphere  of  the  tale  is  fresh  in 
fiction,  the  plot  is  stirring  and  well  knit, 
and  the  author  is  possessed  of  the  ability 
to  write  forceful,  fragrant  English. 

12   mo.,    Illustrated   in    color 
by  C.  M.  Relyea,   Price  $1.50 


The  Bow  en- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


MISS  NICHOLAS' VOLUME  OF  INDIANA  STORIES 


AN    IDYL    OF 
THE    WABASH 

AND    OTHER     STORIES     OF   HOOSIER    LIFE 
By  ANNA  NICHOLAS 


Not  since  Edward  Eggleston  gave  to 
the  world  "  The  Hoosier  School  Master  " 
have  so  tender  and  true  pictures  of  life 
in  the  middle  West  been  presented  as 
these  from  Miss  Nicholas. — New  York 
Mail  and  Express. 


12  mo.,  cloth  ornamental,  gilt  top. 
Price  $1.50 


The  Bowen- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


BILL   NYE'S  LAST  BOOK. 


A     GUEST     AT 
THE    LUDLOW 

BY  EDGAR  WILSON  NYE  (Bill  Nye). 


A  volume  of  humorous  stories  and 
sketches,  with  twenty-one  full-page  and 
twelve  smaller  designs,  the  latter  by  the 
author. 

Printed,  bound  and  illustrated  in  a  style 
surpassing  anything  heretofore  issued  of 
Mr.  Nye's  in  book  form,  and  containing 
the  famous  humorist's  best  and  most  fin 
ished  work.  Twenty-eight  stories  and 
numerous  illustrations,  including  the  au 
thor's  introduction  in  fac-simile. 

12  mo,,  Cloth  Ornamental, 
Price  $1.25 


The  Boiven- Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


FUN  FROM  BOB  BURDETTE. 


Chimes  From  a  Jester's  Bells 


A  volume  of  humorous  and  pathetic 
stories  and  sketches.  By  Robert  J.  Bur- 
dette.  Beautifully  illustrated,  bound  in 
uniform  style  with  Bill  Nye's  "  A  Guest 
at  the  Ludlow." 


12  mo.,  cloth  ornamental,  illus 
trated.     Price  $1.25 


The  Bowen-Merrill  Company,  Indianapolis 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


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General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


